


The devil's eyes

by bjorn_ironside



Category: Vikings (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Falling In Love, Feelings Realization, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:28:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 51,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24574576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjorn_ironside/pseuds/bjorn_ironside
Summary: A Christian and a Heathen - enemies to the blood. When Heahmund is asked to keep an eye on Ragnar Lothbork's young son after they are captured, he faces his worst enemy - and himself.
Relationships: Heahmund & Ivar (Vikings), Heahmund/Ivar (Vikings)
Comments: 219
Kudos: 269





	1. ~~~ P r o l o g ~~~

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't get rid of the thought of a story that once describes Heahmund's side. Which describes the feelings of the Christian as he and Ivar fall in love. In this story, the Vikings are the prisoners, unlike the plot in the series. I hope you like it, and I'm happy if leave me feedback!

Thick, chunky drops fell from the sky, raining in the tall man's face, running down his shoulders and leaving dark spots on his dark gray leather - but it didn't matter to him.

With a snort, the man dropped to his knees and threw his head back; the rain drenched his face and a flash of lightning brightened the night sky. But all the man did was stare at the sky and let out a shattering cry from the deepest throat, from the deepest of his body. The scream echoed in the woods and startled a few birds - a second but softer cry followed, and the man closed his eyes.

"Why?" he shouted into the night sky, which gave a loud grumble; the rain grew heavier, even wet the man's shoes, and a damp trace of water ran down his neck.

"Why did you leave me, oh Lord ... why me?"

His body shivered, trembled; he dropped his head to his chest and ran both hands through his wet face. He was finished. Desperate and abandoned by God.

Why had God left him alone, alone and lonely in this terrible time? Why had God let this pagan into his life, knowing that he had always sworn off this demon?

_You have known it for a long time._

No, no. He didn’t. _Not him!_ Heahmund let out a sob, battered by sin and burning inside; he hadn't wanted that. Not like this.

_You knew the day was coming. The day the devil reveals himself to you._

The voice in Heahmund’s head grew quieter, interrupted by another furious cry that pierced through the woods and startled a deer - and although another flash of lightning illuminated the sky, the Christian stayed seated and stared at the raindrops that fell to the ground in front of him.

What had happened? And how could it come this far? How had he, _he_ , bishop of the English Church, been able to indulge in a pagan?

It was only after another while on the knees in the increasing rain that Heahmund jumped up and ran his hand through the now wet hair.

He was a sinner and he had to pay.

And this heathen would also pay for it...


	2. ~~~ H e a t h e n ~~~

** A few days earlier **

"He‘s not dangerous, I assume. Nevertheless, you should keep an eye on him. After all, he still is the son of Ragnar Lothbrok."

Heahmund leaned back in his chair and frowned at his king; from the beginning it hadn’t suited him that the castle was now inhabited by pagans, albeit as prisoners. He knew all the fabled stories about Ragnar Lothbrok and his sons, knew every bloodthirsty detail. King Aethelwulf looked at Heahmund with a slight smile, but Heahmund didn’t return that smile.

"How do you figure out that his son is not dangerous? It seems strange to me that only the two have arrived here, without weapons, without - "

"I understand your concerns, Heahmund. But look at the son! He's a cripple, and Ragnar Lothbrok has grown old, ancient. My father may still see the big man in him, but I’m nowhere near it.”

Heahmund ran a thumb and forefinger through his beard and gave Aethelwulf a brief look; despite the relaxed mood of his king, he wasn't comfortable with the thought, and he sighed slightly as he leaned back.

"Whether crippled or not, they are pagans, both of them. And pagans are a danger to every Christian. So, the Lord decided it, ever since we live. The world should be cleaned of pagans, and you don't seriously believe that these monsters don’t need to be washed away…"

"I don’t know. We just keep them here for security. It's always better to keep the tiger in the cage than out there in the distance.”

Heahmund cleared his throat. "It could be a trap, sir. Have you never doubted why these famous men came all alone? With a boat?"

“As long as my father doesn't doubt, I don't doubt either. Just keep an eye on the youngest offspring."

"The cripple."

Aethelwulf smiled transfigured and he nodded; with a soft movement of his hand he waved towards the door, and Heahmund bowed slightly before getting up.

"As you wish, my lord."

-

Just in front of the door of the pagan Heahmund stopped and bowed his head. He closed his eyes gently and prayed - quietly and softly - because he was pissed off about looking after the young pagan. However, he could not contradict his king's command, so after another, more intimate moment of prayer, he unlocked the door.

Sunlight flooded the room, and although there were bars in the window, it was by no means a prison. It was one of the guest rooms that the king had given to the pagans, and on top of Heahmund’s bad mood was added that the said Viking was already sitting on the freshly made bed as if it was his own; Heahmund grimaced and nodded silently as he caught the young man's gaze. The latter eyed him as critically as Heahmund looked at him - his bright eyes slid up and down the Christian, and it almost seemed as if he was appraising his face, if not studying.

Heahmund was not impressed at all; his gaze wandered just as pejorative over the Viking. He was smaller than Heahmund, but his skin looked a little more tanned, even though they came from the far north. Maybe because he had spent a lot of time outdoors, Heahmund didn't know. His hair was extremely dark brown, and like many of his comrades, the young heathen had braided his hair on the sides. He was wearing a black leather armor and looked extremely angry that Heahmund had come into the room without another word, because the corners of his mouth were drawn down, while the bright blue eyes seemed to watch him through every millimeter of his way. A small scar graced the pagan's cheek and Heahmund looked him straight in the eye.

_Pagan scum._

"My king told me to look after you," Heahmund said curtly; he noticed that the young man continued to look at him insolently, and his eyes shone.

"I don't need a watchdog, thanks. And since you always lock the door, I dare to doubt that I can escape."

Heahmund’s eyes wandered from the boy’s face down to his legs, only briefly - and Aethelwulf had been right. On the outside, one couldn't see it from the stature, but large rails and clasps made of metal and strips of leather revealed that the legs of the young pagan didn’t seem to be working properly.

"One doesn't look up on a cripple’s legs," the heathen hissed, and Heahmund looked up again; he wanted to hit the cheeky Viking in the face, but they were neither prisoners nor guests. Something in between that Heahmund was already driving white-hot angry inside; and yet he crossed his arms in front of his pelvis and stared back at the pagan. A faint red glow on his cheeks told him that the young man was extremely pissed off.

"Forgive me, I just wanted to know if you really actually cannot walk. Because if it was up to me…” Heahmund took a step towards the heathen; he didn't even flinch but raised an eyebrow. Heahmund could feel it - anger and rejection, and despite the handicap, the young man seemed to be clear in his head. His blue eyes never let go of him as Heahmund continued. "...if it was up to me, you would end up in the dungeon. Not in one of the guest rooms."

"Well, then I can count myself lucky that you are no more than a feeble servant, right? Because apart from playing lap dog, you seem to have only the tasks of a simple man."

Anger boiled up in Heahmund; he looked at the young man, returned his smirking look, and grimaced.

"I am a man of God and not a servant. The king only entrusts me with his most important tasks.”, he hissed, and the young pagan laughed.

Flashing white teeth became visible; the canines were pointed and appeared to be sharper than the others. _Like the devil_ , Heahmund thought, but the young man's words cut him off.

"Guarding a cripple is an _important_ task? Are you sure your king doesn't think you are too old to do more important things?”

It didn't take a moment when Heahmund had come so close to the young pagan that he flinched slightly; with a rough movement he pressed his thumb and the rest of his fingers against the bones of the heathen’s chin and pressed as hard as he dared - from the slight gasp he realized that it had to hurt, even if the heathen's eyes were still provocative and sharply focused on him.

"I'm not here to amuse you. I'm not a simple servant, and should you dare to be so cheeky again, I will cut your damn throat. A small souvenir from the gentleman’s servant.”, Heahmund hissed angrily; he increased the pressure on his fingers even more until the young heathen let out a tight laugh.

"You would die before you could even take a swing. Don't you know who I am? "

"No, I don't know any cripples. You only have your father's name, nothing more."

The young pagan bared his teeth as best as he could; the pressure from Heahmund’s hand did not diminish.

"I am Ivar the boneless. And one day I'll kill you."

Heahmund let out a contemptuous snort; his gray eyes kept the pagan in check as best as he could.

"I don't think so. How do you want to kill me, crawl after me like an animal?"

But with a quick and unstoppable movement Ivar suddenly had both hands on Heahmund’s arm and pulled the Christian’s arm down; two powerful hands gripped the collar of his armor, and with a lightning-fast movement he pulled Heahmund up to his head; the teeth were bared with rage and Heahmund gasped - more out of surprise rather than from pain.

"I’m not an animal! I should destroy you, right here and right now! ”, the young heathen roared; Heahmund reached back with one arm and wanted to pull out his sword, while Ivar reached for his side at the same time and apparently was also looking for something - but before the two could do anything to themselves, a slight whistle sounded behind them.

Both pairs of eyes turned to the door, and there was an extremely amused Eckbert who was looking at them.

"Gentlemen, we are not here to fight. Bishop Heahmund, thank you for looking after the young Lothbrok - but I now need him in the hall, as well as his father. If you would escort him there?"

Heahmund exhaled deeply; his hands released the hilt of the sword and pushed the pagan's arms away from him. The latter eyed him with a deadly look, but it didn't bother Heahmund.

When Eckbert was gone again, he turned his head towards Ivar again and pointed to his legs with a rough movement.

"Didn't you hear? The Lord wants to see you. And of course I won't carry you."

Ivar snorted contemptuously; his blue eyes were still staring at Heahmund, then he licked his lips and slid to the edge of the bed with a swift movement, where there were a couple of strange-looking crutches.

Heahmund crossed his arms over his chest and watched the young man push himself onto the dark metal crutches with a little effort, and then he gave Heahmund a venomous look.

"I've never needed help, especially not from scum like you. Don't stare at me like that!”, he hissed, but Heahmund didn't look away; with a transfigured look, he watched Ivar move slowly towards the door.

_Incomprehensible_! One should actually kill these people immediately, who behaved like animals. Who knows what else they would be up to do?

As they silently sneaked down the hallway, the cripple slowly creeping in front of him, Heahmund felt dirty - as if stained. His eyes went to the boy's back, then to the back of his neck - his torso seemed strong, probably because he was using it all the time. Nevertheless, hatred boiled up in him like he had rarely felt it before - and he wondered why _he_ had been chosen for this task. Didn't his king know that he didn't want to deal with unbelievers? And he wasn’t really able to? He usually slew Pagans with his sword, and looking back at Ivar's neck, Heahmund felt a tremendous urge to stab him with his sword from behind.

But even before he had finished thinking, Ivar turned around and looked for his eyes - and in his eyes Heahmund saw the same hatred and disgust that he felt.

"I don't know where to go," Ivar croaked, and Heahmund let out a snort before pushing past Ivar with a rough movement and showing the cripple with the crutches the way into the hall.

The two of them didn't look at each other at the table all evening.


	3. ~ ~ ~ C h r i s t i a n   V e i n s ~ ~ ~

_Heathen._

It was the heathen that Heahmund went on thinking for a long time that night, even after he had long since been lying in bed with his torso free. He turned sideways, back again, blinked at the ceiling of his room, trying to understand what was going on. Sure, they had already fought a lot of pagans at that time - but to keep them like guests, only with fewer privileges? To let them eat at the same table as the King and his father, along with followers of the Church?

"They're _not bad_ at all, Heahmund, we can _actually learn_ a lot from them," Eckbert had told him when Heahmund had expressed disapproval of the talks between Ragnar Lothbrok and his former king.

He didn't think much of their unbelief. Several gods and a hall of shields, where they and the gods would eat after the battle? There was a small snort in the nightly silence as Heahmund pulled his hair and shook his head - no, he couldn't have a good conscience that these savages continued to stain the Lord's halls with their point of views. He couldn't stand their closeness, let alone the closeness of one particular man: Ivar.

His hands clenched in the sheets as he thought of the deep blue, heretic eyes that had been directed at him like a wild animal, like a predator, watching and evaluating every step. This traitor of a heathen had studied his movements precisely, as if _he_ , Heahmund, was the wild creature in the room. As if he had been the insolent one who dared to turn his voice against reason.

But Heahmund had no other choice: he had to obey his king and his father. But by God, he would show this pagan pack that not everyone was good with them, and he would savor every opportunity that came to harm them.

_Oh Lord, don't leave me at this time_ , he prayed, and finally found sleep after what felt like an eternity.

-

"My lord, I can't - " Heahmund let out, but Eckbert shook his head and put a hand on his shoulder. They slowly walked down the beautifully paved corridor that led to the west wing, where the guest rooms were also. The sun was shining, but Heahmund’s mood was as dark as the night.

"You can and you have to. I don't entrust this task to anyone else. They don't do anything at all, especially not the son! So why are you worried?” Eckbert looked amused and open, and he met Heahmund’s skeptical look with a twinkle.

"The son is of the same tribe, my lord. And he's got his father's bloodthirst in his veins, I can see it. I can't spend time with this pagan, my belief forbids me. I was born to cut off their heads, but not this!” Heahmund said bitterly, but Eckbert’s grip on his shoulder only solidified.

“My dear bishop, there is a lot between heaven and earth that we do not understand and do not want to accept. At least not with hearts full of a storm. God may have told you to kill your enemies, oh yes - but did he tell you not to get to know them? Don't we get to know the bible too? Or the people who believe in something? Does otherness preclude reason?"

A slight stab in the stomach angered Heahmund, but he said nothing. He didn’t share this view, but what else was there to do? When he met Eckbert’s gaze, he bowed, even if he clenched his hand on the side of his sword. If he was not mistaken, Eckbert was on the wrong track and he would pray for him tonight.

-

No matter how hard every fiber of his body resisted it, Heahmund had to start again with the way to the young heathen. At the door he sent a short prayer to heaven, praying for inner calm and serenity in the face of the devil, but when he unlocked the door and saw Ivar sitting at a table with a chessboard, his anger boiled up again.

It was the pure sight of it, and above all it was the curious blue eyes that immediately focused on him that made Heahmund fight with himself deeply. It was more than itchy to want to slit this little bastard's throat, but Heahmund just nodded to him and stopped in the middle of the room.

"I was wondering when the lap dog would be let out to play again," grinned Ivar, glancing at Heahmund; Heahmund knew that pagan's eyes stopped on his cross chain, so he returned his attention to his eyes by clearing his throat.

Ivar looked back at him like a wolf, and Heahmund returned that look sharply.

“If I were a lap dog, I wouldn't be here. Believe me, I'm just as disappointed with your sight as you are with mine. Who would not prefer to do something other than watch a crippled heathen who can't run away anyway?”

Ivar gave a slight grunt; he continued to look at Heahmund steadfastly, and his eyes reflected curiosity, amusement, and what felt like anger inside; a warm pink tongue slid between the pagan lips and he let out an amused laugh. The sharp canine teeth flashed.

"You amuse me, Christian."

Heahmund bowed mockingly and returned Ivar’s amused laugh with a pejorative twinkle; when he said nothing more, Ivar nodded to him.

"Do you play chess?"

Heahmund paused briefly; he struggled not to clench his hands into fists, but then he nodded. "Yes."

"Come on, we're playing a round," suggested Ivar, and Heahmund considered. It didn't make a difference whether he stood in a corner for hours or sat down. He was reluctant to even begin to approach this pagan, but in the end the thought of Eckbert overwhelmed him. Perhaps if he behaved well, he would still allow him to cut off the heads of the gentiles whenever he no longer needed them.

So Heahmund took a few steps towards Ivar and sat in the opposite chair of the table; Ivar’s eyes had followed him across the room, and he grinned slightly as Heahmund sat opposite him and looked at him.

"You know the rules, I assume?" Ivar said.

"Since this game was invented in our countries, yes, I know it. What a foolish question.” Heahmund replied; he put both hands on the table and began to place the white figures on his side of the board.

After watching him for a few moments, Ivar placed the black figures on his side. "There are no foolish questions, only foolish answers, Christian."

Heahmund looked up; since Ivar was still focused on setting up his figures, he glanced briefly over the young man's body. Strong upper body, as he had noticed yesterday. The hair was still braided and Heahmund clasped his hands on the table. He still couldn't believe what he had to do here.

Blue eyes looked at him and Heahmund looked back. The pagan pointed to the white figures.

"White moves first."

Without another word, Heahmund looked at his figures and pushed the first one onto the field. Ivar did the same.

"If you are a man of God, as you say so beautifully, why do you kill? Doesn't your strange belief forbid that?"

After another move, Heahmund looked up; Anger boiled up in him, and it wasn’t a good one. He stared at Ivar for a while, then he replied: “My belief doesn't forbid it. It only says to cleanse the world from evil. That's why it doesn't really suit me that your head is still sitting on your shoulder."

Ivar put on a sly smile; without looking at the field, he made the next move.

"So you're a puppy dog because your king forbids you to do." Slim fingers let go of the black figure and Heahmund snorted slightly.

"You only live because of him. I'll kill someone like you in seconds. With all my divine skill."

"A strategist?"

"A warrior."

Heahmund didn't flinch as Ivar's grin continued and he ran his tongue briefly over his lips. Heahmund didn't know what he was thinking, but the pagan seemed excited about something.

"Yes ..." Ivar let out and made his next move; "... you love to fight. Your scars tell me that. You'd like to put a knife between my ribs, wouldn't you?”

Heahmund loosely gripped a white pawn and set it; he was getting dangerously close to Ivar’s. Then he looked up and looked the heathen straight in the eye.

"I would rather do nothing more than experience the feeling of ramming my blade into your body," he replied, and Ivar's cheeks suddenly showed a hint of light red. Heahmund tried to ignore it; he didn't like the direction the conversation was going. He still felt his anger. And his deep aversion.

Ivar looked away briefly, his cheeks still hot; then he made the next move. Heahmund’s figure fell.

"Step by step into ruin," said Ivar wearily, looking up again; the blue eyes looked different, changed. They had a trace of shine and Heahmund could feel heat between them. There was something. Was it anger? The hate? "How would you do it, Christian?"

Heahmund raised an eyebrow; he didn’t let go of Ivar’s gaze.

"What, killing you?"

Ivar let out a faint laugh, as if caught; he stared at Heahmund’s fingers that set the next figure. "Yes."

Heahmund waited for a second; he watched the field for a moment, then looked up again at Ivar, who met his gaze with fire. Something irritating crawled up Heahmund’s neck, and he let his shoulders roll briefly, hoping the feeling would go away.

"I would cut your head off. But not just like that. I would grab your stupid hair, bare your throat and your neck and slowly, _very slowly_ …” Heahmund took the next move; "...separate your head from your body. So that you will burn forever in hell."

Something stirred in Ivar, Heahmund saw it clearly - the young man shifted uneasily in his chair before resting his elbows on the table and setting his figure.

When he looked up, it almost took Heahmund’s breath away - he saw something in those eyes, something he couldn't describe. And it made him mad inside. He no longer wanted to see this pagan ...

The two men looked at each other and there was a slight silence. Then Ivar smiled.

"There is no hell. You won't end up anywhere after death. Maybe in Valhalla. With the Gods."

Heahmund's lips tightened, and he felt angry and detestable. He felt his fist begin to tremble, and he also knew Ivar could see it.

"Shut up or you'll get into a lot of trouble. Don't pull my faith into the dirt.” Heahmund snarled and Ivar grinned slightly.

"The way you pull my faith in the dirt?"

"I - I only kill what doesn't exist!" Heahmund’s voice grew louder and his forearms tensed. Anger boiled up and he tensed his neck as Ivar's eyes lost a little of the shine and his grin also turned into a kind of mask. The corners of his mouth went down, and he hissed:

"Your God is _dead_ , Christian!" Ivar literally spat out these words, and for Heahmund it was the drop that made the barrel overflow. He didn't hesitate for a second as he leapt across the table in a mighty leap and tore the young pagan to the floor, who was gasping in fright.

Heahmund’s hands found Ivar’s face, and he struck hard against the temple of the pagan, who was too perplexed for a moment to react. But after another moment, Heahmund had to admit that Ivar was not following his father for no reason; lightning fast, the hands of the young man clasped Heahmund’s shoulders, and with a force that Heahmund hadn’t expected him to do, it was Ivar who sat up with his torso and rolled them so that Heahmund was suddenly on his back; he was shocked that the young heathen had so much strength, and within seconds there were slender hands that wrapped around his neck and squeezed his throat.

"You're nothing but a cursed piece of garbage, Christian!!" Ivar hissed; his temple was bloody and reddish, but the madness was reflected in his eyes. Heahmund’s hands clasped around Ivar’s, trying to release the pressure; it was only with some difficulty that he succeeded. He used all his strength to push his hands back towards Heahmund’s neck, but the Christian didn’t let it get that far. With enormous effort, he pushed the boy up, and since Ivar couldn't move his legs, that was his only advantage; he gripped Ivar's shoulders tightly and hit the pagan as hard as he could with his back on the ground; he hissed wildly, but Heahmund managed to keep him in tune by pressing his strong forearm against his throat. Ivar gasped for air.

Heahmund reached for his small bag with his free hand, and with a firm grip he tore a small knife out of it. It was only when he pressed the knife with the pointed blade against the heathen’s throat that he stopped fighting, breathing heavily. He stared at Heahmund full of hate and anger and his teeth bared as Heahmund pressed the blade more tightly against his throat.

"Shut up! You dare to question our faith in this house? _You_? A worthless prisoner who will get nothing but going into a damp grave? I should kill you right away!” Heahmund roared.

Ivar licked his lips; his face was still contorted with rage, his cheeks red and the blood dripping from his face. But a fire blazed in his eyes, and this fire stared at Heahmund. As if it was eating him alive.

"Do it," gasped Ivar, and his hands clasped around Heahmund’s arms; the latter tried to shake it off, but it was not easy. He returned the pagan look, felt boiling anger, hatred - and something warm. Something warm crept up his veins, flowed up his spinal cord, and formed a lake of heat on his neck. He could still feel Ivar’s hands on his throat, the pressure, and the blazing fire of his eyes made it an ordeal. Was this close to feel hell?

Heahmund paused; he still held the handle of the knife firmly in his hand, still pressing it against Ivar's throat with enough pressure that he was trapped - but he couldn't move. His body grew stiff under that look, under that closeness, and he reluctantly realized that they were breathing the same air. A terrible feeling spread through his body that paralyzed him. He tried to hold his breath, but it didn't work.

" _DO IT_!!" Ivar shouted, and the young man's voice was hoarse; there was already a small incision in the throat, and delicate, very fine blood was pouring out of it. Heahmund felt almost stupid to think that it wasn't black as he had expected - black as hell, black as the fire of the devil. But the only black thing that was here was the bitter black pupil of Ivar’s eyes, surrounded by a sea of azure fire. He held the gaze of the Christian, he never let go for a second.

"You deserve something worse than death," Heahmund pressed out; he tightened the handle of the knife and tried not to pay attention to the blood flowing out.

Ivar gasped under him. "You can't do it, you don't have the guts."

The heathen exhaled as far as he could with the knife on his throat, and it was in this movement that their bodies pressed against each other. There was a clearly noticeable, firm rubbing of their bodies, chest to chest, pelvis to pelvis, and a fire shot Heahmund out of nowhere into his circulation and raged in it.

_Oh Lord, don't let me despair, oh Lord, hear me! Deliver me from this situation_... Heahmund prayed in his mind and he wanted to ignore this feeling because he knew _how_ it felt and _what_ it was. _By God_ , what happened here?

He knew that feeling _too well_ that was growing inside him, that sin, and yet it was too late.

He could feel that Ivar’s body suddenly stiffened under him; the young man's eyes changed, and the anger left his face like a gentle shower of rain. Unbelief, yes, it was unbelief that emerged in the eyes of the pagan, sheer bewilderment. The throat was still bleeding and Heahmund’s hand, which still firmly and deliberately pressed, began to tremble.

The blue eyes were still staring desperately, and for a moment it seemed as if Ivar had no words for what was happening for the first time. Heahmund could not read the look, but there was a different feeling from the bewilderment, but he didn't know what it was. He only felt how Ivar’s convulsive grip loosened around his arms and how he exhaled slightly trembling.

This little movement didn't improve Heahmund’s internal fire and those strange, disgusting, sensational feelings; rather, he began to feel sick, as if he suddenly had a fever. He moved again, feeling the pressure of their bodies on each other, the friction, the closeness, and he knew he had to go.

Right away, without return.

The knife fell clattered to the floor, stained with a few drops of blood, and Heahmund pushed himself off the floor with both forearms and stood up. He didn't care that Ivar stared after him - he had both elbows on the floor and his blue eyes followed Heahmund out of the room in disbelief. Heahmund thought he heard another choked word, but then he was out the door.

Blood roared in his ears and he felt he was going to faint any moment. White dots danced before his eyes as he trudged down the hall and just wanted to get away.

He cursed his body for these feelings, he cursed his body for sensations such as lust, eroticism and well-being. He cursed every cell in his body, he cursed his past, why had he ever found out what lust was? It was a shadow of himself, a bad side, everything he detested. And yet, blood flowed through his body and made him feel what it was: life. And being alive. Not just deaf prayer and faith.

Despite the pulsating adrenaline, Heahmund hated himself more than any other person in those moments. If God had chosen him, why did he allow this to happen? And also caused by a pagan, a renegade, a _monster_?

When he got to his room, he fell painfully on his knees; he felt the bones hit the stone floor hard, but it was the pain that brought him back to reality and made him feel burning disgust.

He was disgusted with himself, and just a few moments later, looking for a small braided rope and his bible, he was terrified.

Had that really happened, or was something playing a trick on him?

When the first blow went deep into the flesh of his back, Heahmund didn't shout, he just trembled and asked God why he was punishing him.


	4. ~ ~ ~ N e r v e s ~ ~ ~

The next morning was gray and rainy when Heahmund opened his eyes slightly agonized. He felt drained and tired as if he'd been in a battle the day before, fighting harder than ever. But he hadn't been - he had only waged a bitter fight against himself.

When he moved slightly, he felt the deep marks on his back; he hissed lightly, but was very familiar with the care, which was why after a few seconds of sitting silently on the edge of the bed, he started right there - he treated the wounds with some sage and put on the black leather armor he always wore when he had things to do in the castle. When he tightened the leather buckles and tied the harness tighter than necessary that day, he decided that he didn't want to see such a fight with his faith a second time today.

_He would avoid the pagan._

With a slight moan, Heahmund sat down briefly on the wooden table, his torso leaning forward slightly, and stared out of the window - heavy rain was falling, and a powerful thunderstorm boomed in the distance.

_Oh Lord, please don't tempt me._

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment. The roar of the rain gave him goose bumps all over his back, and after a while he pushed himself off the table and headed for the court chapel.

Throughout the day he managed to keep his thoughts and his paths from connecting with Ivar - he even held a short mass before he caught Eckbert on the way back to the big halls, in the small corridor that led to the kitchens.

Heahmund bowed briefly, then looked at the former king in silence. Before he even said the words, he knew what he wanted.

"Heahmund, my dear bishop ... if you are so good and looking after young Lothbrok again? I didn't really see him with his father very often today, and that worries me.”

“He'll be fine, sir. I actually have other plans - “ Heahmund said softly, but Eckbert interrupted him. His eyes were transfigured.

"Do me this favor, yes? I currently have a queasy feeling."

"I told you about my concerns about the pagans from the start, my lord."

Eckbert looked at him for a while, then nodded silently. "If that's the case, I have to know you all the more by my side, because you are the best warrior here in the house."

Heahmund nodded silently and bowed again, while Eckbert pulled past him with his slightly confused expression.

For a moment Heahmund chewed his lower lip and stood still in the hallway; had God left him? He was tired of meeting the heathen, so tired, especially after yesterday he couldn't imagine such an encounter. But what did his anger bring him? With a slight shake of his head and a slightly mocking snort, Heahmund finally turned and headed for the guest hallway, his thoughts only focused on why fate brought this boy into his life.

-

Silence.

It was heroic, oppressive silence that filled the room when Heahmund had unlocked the door and locked it behind his back again. He saw Ivar sitting on the bed with the many leather straps and fixtures on his legs; the heathen eyed him suspiciously, with a trace of anger, but Heahmund did not respond to that today.

All he did was sit on a chair in front of the wall opposite Ivar’s bed - and not even face to face with the young man.

No, he couldn't and didn't want to, he didn't even want to look at that treacherous blue eyes tonight. If he did that, he believed, the young unbeliever would leave him alone. And he could finally atone for his sins in peace.

"You're late today," Ivar said after a while; he had turned to Heahmund, stretched his legs from the bed, and was staring at the Christian as if yesterday never had happened. Heahmund didn't even flinch; he had stubbornly focused on his own hands, playing with his leather armor on his arm.

There was a low, derogatory snort - Ivar's hands were clasped in front of his body and he continued to stare at Heahmund, lurking like a predator. It was sheer anger and blazing hatred that boiled up in Heahmund, but he forced himself to remain calm. He didn't want to freak out like yesterday, he had to stay strong. He had been able to do it so many times before that a small rebellious heathen wasn't a problem.

There was silence again for a while, until Ivar made himself heard again.

"You're in a bad mood today, Christian. Did your god leave you? Or are you still struggling with yesterday's defeat?” There was a little pride in Ivar’s voice, a little too much amusement, and Heahmund looked up.

Ivar met his eyes openly and curiously, almost eagerly – and it itched in Heahmund’s fingers, he wanted to crush this pagan with his hands so badly, but he only exhaled deeply and raised an eyebrow.

"What defeat? There was none. And it would be better for you if you keep your mouth shut today."

Ivar grinned slightly, and Heahmund could see the amusement in his eyes precisely - he even thought he saw a little bit of yesterday's fire when Ivar pushed his slightly pointed canine teeth over his full lower lip.

"You must undoubtedly have a bad memory, Bishop - I think I remember that _one fight_ was _clearly lost_."

The two men looked at each other, Ivar with a blazing, amused look, while Heahmund frowned slightly in anger. He tried to use all his inner strength against the pagan teasing, and he really tried to cover up his rising anger. But every sparkle in Ivar’s eyes only fueled Heahmund’s inner struggle.

"And I think I remember that somebody got very _sheepish_ when there was a knife on his damn throat -"

"Me? Petty? No way! I wasn't the one who - "

"Who WHAT?" With a more than clear and loud answer, Heahmund got up and stood in front of Ivar. The young pagan still had his mouth open slightly but was still staring at Heahmund and his eyes were flashing.

When Ivar didn't answer, Heahmund roughly grabbed his chin with his thumb and remaining fingers and pulled him closer to him; Ivar bared his teeth, his eyes narrowed. "Who did WHAT? I asked you a QUESTION, PRISONER. Or should I rather call you scum?” Heahmund hissed the words poisonously and in an extremely deep voice; his fingers applied so much pressure that Ivar hissed slightly.

"A question?" Ivar pressed out, gasping a laugh; "Do you call _that_ a question? It's your fear of what happened yesterday, Christian!"

"Nothing happened!" Heahmund replied roughly. His gray eyes slid over Ivar’s face, stuck to the fine scar on his cheek. Blue eyes were still staring at him, so intensely burning - Heahmund saw it out of the corner of his eye.

"Do you want a scar like that too, _your highness_?" Ivar whispered softly and menacingly, and Heahmund finally turned his gaze to him. They looked at each other for a moment, suspicious, full of hate, and when Heahmund was about to say something, Ivar made a lightning-fast movement and something incredibly sharp tore along Heahmund’s cheek.

For a moment he took a step back and put his hand on his cheek; blood poured out, smelling warm and metallic, and only now Heahmund saw that the little bastard of a heathen was holding a sharp knife, still pulled to attack, while his bared teeth glared threateningly at him.

It was _his knife_!

There were exactly two heartbeats that seemed to drag on endlessly, in which Christian and Pagan stared at each other, full of anger in their blood - then Heahmund leapt forward and pressed both hands against Ivar’s neck and squeezed tightly.

He sensed exactly that the young Lothbrok was trying to ram the knife into his side, but with a particularly firm pressure on the neck, just below the throat, Heahmund robbed him of all air to breathe.

Ivar dropped the knife out of reflex and let out a choked gasp; every color had drained from his face and he was now panicking trying to get Heahmund’s arms away from his throat. The heathen tore at Heahmund’s forearms with some cruel force, but Heahmund could feel exactly how the boy ran out of strength. The pressure of the Christian was too firm, and he didn't stop until he felt that Ivar’s arms were slowly sinking down and he was no longer fighting too hard.

Only then did he loosen the iron grip on the young man's throat, and the young heathen gasped for breath. It sounded almost sharp, and when Heahmund loosened his fingers from the amazingly soft neck, he saw the red marks on it.

Ivar breathed hard for a few moments - and Heahmund? Heahmund cursed himself for his weakness. Again, he had failed, again the pagan had provoked him so much that he had responded to him. And again, they were in this miserable position, ready to kill each other.

But Heahmund wasn't stupid, he knew he couldn't do it. He didn't want to start a war over a pitiful, ridiculous _pagan_.

That pagan slowly raised his eyes. Heahmund met the blue eyes immediately; and something stirred in him, something throbbed inside. The blue of Ivar’s eyes was clear again, and instead of staring at the Christian in rage, he just stared at the bloody wound on Heahmund’s face, which was now dripping and burning terribly.

"Now we are one, you and me. Equal.”, Ivar gasped softly; the blue eyes were still studying Heahmund’s cheek, and it was in those seconds that Heahmund realized how close they were to each other.

"Equal? We will never be the same.” Heahmund replied hoarsely; his eyes went over Ivar’s neck and then he saw it: the small, wildly throbbing artery on his neck. It was a little bluish from the gagging and pressure, but it was throbbing in excitement. Like a woman's heartbeat when she surrendered to Heahmund ...

Ivar’s eyes turned away from the wound on Heahmund’s face. Heahmund sensed that Ivar was looking for his gaze, but he couldn't stop staring at the vein on his neck that seemed to pound harder as Heahmund moved. So, the Christian moved slightly by lowering his hands.

Ivar’s body seemed to react instinctively, because he was turning in the exact direction that his arms had dropped when the azure rings of fire stared directly at Heahmund.

"We are more alike than you think, Bishop."

Heahmund could no longer avoid looking now - they were both still breathing heavily, and for a moment it was the only sound between them. Only the rain pattered gently against the window in the background, and a flash of light brightened the room a little more.

"No. Whatever you are - you are not really human, Ivar."

A twitch went through Ivar’s body and the blue eyes seemed to widen a little when the young heathen heard Heahmund say his name. His mouth opened slightly, but there was no mockery to be seen. No, much more, the lips opened softly and gently, and something sparkled in Ivar’s eyes.

Heat spread between them, and Heahmund felt a tension build up between them. His heart beat a little harder, even if he told himself it was out of anger.

"Like a god?" the pagan asked softly, and to Heahmund’s surprise he smiled. The canines flashed and Heahmund’s body seemed to be fighting inside. His head screamed as loud as he could against it - but his arm lifted by itself, fixed Ivar’s chin, and he fixed his eyes on the mouth of the pagan.

"Gods have no fangs," Heahmund replied, and there it was - Ivar let out a chuckle and he was suddenly different than usual. Another person, at least in those seconds.

Something uncomfortable formed in Heahmund’s stomach and he tried to direct his thoughts to the storm outside this room. Unsuccessful...

"And still, you're amusing me, Christian." It wasn't a strong statement, it was a whisper, and Heahmund felt it - that one moment. That one moment when the fire spread between two people and everything, really everything in his body screamed to _not_ do it.

This one moment of respite, this one moment of calm before the storm.

Heahmund still had Ivar’s chin fixed, and a fire raged in him - the same fire that he saw in Ivar’s eyes during those seconds.

And although all nerves, thoughts and feelings resisted this movement and almost drove Heahmund into a kind of fever, he pulled Ivar's chin towards him with both fingers, pulled him close to his own face – and in the next moment they kissed .

It was a gentle, incredibly soft and careful kiss, quite different from what Heahmund had expected. Ivar’s lips were soft and tender, and from the slight tremor he felt that Ivar must be incredibly nervous. Because when Heahmund easily detached himself and looked him in the eye, he could also see insecurity through the flickering fire - and even fear. The young pagan looked at him, his eyes big and shiny, while his mouth was still slightly open. Ivar's hands were raised helplessly halfway up, ignorant and unsure of where to put them.

However, when Heahmund leaned over again and pressed his lips to Ivar’s open mouth for another kiss, his hands landed uncertainly and feather-light on Heahmund’s shoulders. Another deepening kiss on the mouth, and a slightly trembling hand lay on Heahmund’s neck and pulled him a little closer, albeit tentatively.

Ivar replied the fourth kiss more clearly this time, which caused an incredibly hot wave of lust to shoot through Heahmund’s body. He felt drunk, like in a delusional fever dream, as he pressed closer to Ivar and kissed the young pagan more intensely. And although he was dizzy from all the hatred and anger and fear of his own failure, he gently directed his lips to open Ivar’s mouth and gently pushed his tongue into his hot mouth.

He was amazed at how violently Ivar reacted to it - the hand on the back of his neck winced, and incredibly warm, almost heated fingers gripped Heahmund’s skin more tightly. Almost as if Ivar was afraid of something. Afraid to let go? Afraid of something new? Heahmund didn't know and didn't want to know - he didn't even want to think. All he wanted was more of that taste on his tongue, that sweetness. Because Ivar tasted sweeter than anything he had ever tasted - and he triggered the greatest, disgusted excitement in Heahmund that no woman had ever been able to trigger on him.

Ivar learned quickly, as inexperienced as he looked. His tongue turned out to be talented as soon as he tasted some of Heahmund’s kisses; the young heathen let out a slight gasp as Heahmund grabbed him by the waist against all reason and pushed his body further up; he broke the kiss and got an almost scared look from Ivar, whose hand stiffened in Heahmund’s neck.

But Heahmund only pushed Ivar onto the bed so far that he could also put his legs down; and as soon as the pagan looked at him again uncertainly, his eyes doubtful, Heahmund leaned over him, pressed the young man with his back onto the prisoner's bed, which was too soft for being a prison, and kissed him again. The new position made both feel the other's heat; their bodies were both tense and warm, yet within a few moments they regained their rhythm and sank in a series of increasingly hectic kisses.

It was Ivar who broke the kiss after a while with a gentle gasp - his blue eyes shone so clearly and penetratingly that Heahmund got goose bumps.

Heahmund returned his gaze, gently poking Ivar’s nose with his own. The uncertain eyes reminded him of the moment yesterday, and he gently pushed his lips back onto Ivar’s, felt the pressure of Ivar’s hand on the neck, the tension in his body.

"Yesterday - what did you say there?" Heahmund whispered; he now had his lips turned away from Ivar’s mouth, and he slowly pressed his mouth to Ivar’s small artery on the neck, which throbbed desirably. The intoxicating closeness made Heahmund feel Ivar swallow.

It took a moment for Ivar to respond - his hand gripped Heahmund’s neck, and a bittersweet groan from the bottom of his throat lit a fire in Heahmund’s loins as he caressed and tenderly bit Ivar’s neck. _God damn it, he wanted this pagan. At least only once if he already went to hell anyways._

Heahmund raised his head and looked down at Ivar, who held his gaze - his cheeks were flushed, but his eyes showed the same excited fire.

The shiny canine teeth became visible again and Ivar grinned slightly.

"I said: _stay_."

There was a rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning made Ivar's face look almost demonic - they looked at each other for several moments, appraising, knowing, until their lips clashed with raw intensity and made them forget for a moment who they really were.


	5. ~ ~ ~ T h e    S c a r ~ ~ ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is a new chapter! :)   
> This time I dedicate it to my greatest source of inspiration - @Bubbly_Spiral! Really, you are just an insanely great person! And I love our talks about Heahmund and Ivar so so much! <3
> 
> I haven't written Smut for ages, really, and please don't be so strict ... There is still enough space in this story for a more dirty scene, haha! :D :D Have fun, dear ones! <3

_Don't think, don't judge, don't punish._

_Just feel it._

There were soft, almost fading words that kept popping up in Heahmund's head and repeating themselves over and over - he knew that his head was still fighting against his body, trying hard to prevent what was happening here - but he was leaving these thoughts disappear like a gentle shower of rain.

His hands were too curious about this amazing soft body, which was trembling slightly beneath him, too used to the feeling of touching - just feeling, exploring. Because it was completely foreign to him to touch a body that was so similar to his - and yet so different.

He could feel Ivar’s breath, his heart beating violently, which kept accelerating as Heahmund got closer to his chest. It was disturbingly exciting, more exciting than a bloody battle. Foreign hands also explored his body, stroking his chest gently but curiously, and deep blue eyes stared at him, asking for more.

Heahmund leaned over Ivar with a low gasp. He had rested his forearms lightly on his side on the bed to keep looking at the innocent and yet so evil face that had haunted his nightmares for days. Ivar’s eyes opened again as Heahmund leaned over him, and a heated hand slowly slid down his neck. The warmth was wonderful.

"What if someone -" Ivar gasped, whispering, almost fearfully, as if someone could hear these words, but Heahmund shook his head.

"Nobody will come. Not tonight.” Heahmund’s voice was harsh and dark, and he saw Ivar swallow gently and felt the young Viking’s slim fingers tighten on his neck.

"Do it again," the young heathen whispered, and Heahmund didn't need to ask what he meant. He knew it. By pure instinct.

He leaned over Ivar again and started kissing him hard. Their lips melted together effortlessly, as so often in the last few minutes. It was almost like an addiction, an overwhelming desire - almost as if their bodies would automatically find each other, drawn to the overwhelming heat that spread between them and blazed like a fire.

Heahmund deepened the kisses, and his teeth dug lightly into Ivar’s full lower lip. He was fascinated by the effect it had on Ivar’s body; the strong upper body arched slightly, and a soft, barely audible gasp escaped him, which made Heahmund's goose bumps rustle over his body. His thoughts were clouded by the intoxicating feeling of feeling this stranger on his body, touching his bare skin. And he wanted more.

_Damned are those moments, damned him for the pleasure he felt._

Heahmund detached himself from Ivar, grabbed the bottom of his shirt with both hands and pushed it up until it slid over Ivar’s head with a flowing movement, leaving the young Viking with a slightly flushed cheek.

Heahmund’s gaze wandered up and down Ivar’s bare chest until he unbuttoned his own armor and removed his own shirt, hastily - and pressed himself on Ivar again with a flowing movement; bare, warm skin on bare skin, and he heard Ivar moan softly.

_Forgive me, my lord ..._

A short prayer to the sky before Heahmund’s chest sank down completely onto Ivar’s and for the first time they felt the urgent heat of both bodies so close. It was a magical, devilish feeling because Ivar’s skin was so incredible warm and comfortable. It rubbed benevolently against Heahmund’s, and Heahmund escaped a soft moan before he pressed even closer to Ivar and gave him another biting kiss, which quickly turned into a hot game. With a soft urge this time, it was Ivar who shoved his delicious tongue into Heahmund’s mouth, plucked it out, and brought him to a boiling point. His veins burned; his body burned.

He wanted this pagan, _oh yes_ , and how he wanted him!

Vigorous hands moved around Ivar’s face, fixing it as Heahmund started rubbing his lap against Ivar’s. It was exactly this wonderful, hearty friction that he had had during the first argument with Ivar - only that this here was much nicer and more intense. More bare skin rubbing against each other, more heat, and more sweetness through Ivar’s eager mouth, which made it difficult for Heahmund to think clearly at all.

He had been already hard when he had pushed Ivar onto the bed - he had felt the pressure of his rock-hard erection from there on. But now this pressure became more and more delicious, especially since he felt how Ivar’s cock slowly straightened up and became hard due to the constant, slightly rubbing movement of their bodies on each other.

Ivar broke from Heahmund’s mouth, and Heahmund shivered as the young heathen gasped gently and made an almost choked sound.

"This feels so good, I -" Heahmund looked at Ivar, face still fixed, and made a firmer movement that made Ivar whimper. His mouth opened and the wonderful teeth showed up.

"You what?" the Christian asked softly, giving the young Viking another movement, and another one, while he felt with benevolence how Ivar’s now sweaty hand gripped his neck so tight that it almost hurt.

"I cannot - _af alle guder, ja_!"

It was the next, much firmer pressure from Heahmund's body that lifted Ivar's head back and made the young pagan groan, deep and harsh like the strange words he had just spat out - and Heahmund knew, by God, there was _no_ turning back right now. Because his lust went wild with him, as well as his very last spark of reason, which went down under another pagan murmur and was sealed with a biting, wild kiss.

His hands pressed more tightly around Ivar’s face, pressed further, now breathless kisses onto his lips, which the heathen suddenly replied more firmly than before. From the tremors of his body, Heahmund sensed that Ivar was probably not that experienced, and that this was probably his first real time having sex. But it was only seconds that these thoughts lasted - because he couldn't and didn't want to wait any longer.

He wanted this pagan, this devil, and he wanted him _now_ , with all the forbidden lust and all the sin that had surrounded them since their first meeting.

"Hold on to me." Heahmund gasped, and Ivar’s hands clung tightly to Heahmund’s back as he slid his hands down between their bodies and tried to open Ivar’s waistband.

But with a quick movement there was a hand that held Heahmund’s wrist like a predator; Ivar's eyes were closed tightly, and he bit his lip so hard that it was almost all white.

"No," he said, very quietly and so softly that it almost sounded like a whisper. Despite the tremor, the hand around Heahmund’s wrist was rigid and secure, but Heahmund only snorted softly.

"Allow it, Ivar. It doesn’t hurt."

"It’s not this - I ..."

But the heathen didn't get any further, because Heahmund exerted a mighty boost of force and broke free from Ivar’s grip. Ivar’s eyes opened in panic, and he even raised his head a little. But Heahmund didn’t stop, although Ivar’s hand wanted to put on his wrists again.

"Let it happen. Trust me.” Heahmund said quietly. He looked up and returned Ivar’s look, the deep blue eyes that looked almost scared. But the burning desire was still to be found in it, so Heahmund gently pressed Ivar’s upper body down again and opened the waistband of his pants with hasty fingers. He could hear a low, suppressed whimper when Ivar's erection jumped free - a little smaller than himself, but a beautiful sight. Since Heahmund sensed that there was a problem - probably because of the legs that were still lying there without much use - he only released Ivar’s stiff cock and then opened his own pants but pulled them down a little further.

He glanced at Ivar, who was still tense on his back with his eyes shut tightly. Then Heahmund spat in his palm, twice, and leaned over the young Viking again.

He did it slowly and as gently as he could. With a flowing movement, he lay down on Ivar, pressed his lap firmly onto Ivar’s pelvis, and gripped their two cocks with his spatwet hand; initially loose and soft, so that the boy was not startled.

The silence in the room was oppressive, burning, and it took a moment of eternity for Heahmund to make a smooth, flowing movement that pressed their cocks tightly together, leaving a numbing, intoxicating feeling.

Heahmund supported himself with his free arm on Ivar’s side and looked down at the Viking. The latter opened his mouth and for a while there was no sound, not even a breath. Only then, after another, somewhat firmer push, did a deep, throaty groan escape from his throat, causing Heahmund to goose bumps. Ivar opened his eyes and a look of complete unbelief and shock struck the Christian deeply. Almost burned himself into his soul.

The next move, and Ivar still stared at Heahmund stunned until his arms wrapped around the Christian's body with firm pressure and pulled him so close that the tight friction of their cocks became even more intense.

"What are you doing ...", the heathen let out, but Heahmund only grunted in response. Because it was incredible, and his cock and body were longing for more, more of that closeness, more of that raw, untamed lust for each other.

He moved his body and therefore his hand between their bodies faster, and with each new movement Ivar clawed to the tall man above him more violently; almost as if he thought he would drown if he let go of even a second. Their bodies were drenched in sweat and starved one after the other.

More tight, wet bursts and movements, and Heahmund began to tremble. There was nothing in this situation that did not excite him in any way: Ivar’s rough, increasingly violent breathing and the quiet, moaning noises in between. The almost crude way their bodies huddled together. Became one with sweat and blood. The fact that Ivar put his head on the gentle elevation between Heahmund’s shoulder and neck, looking for something to bite on, that he could hold on to.

And the young Pagan found that something. A hiss escaped Heahmund as the pretty canines pierced his skin, tenderly, then harder as the movements between them grew faster. Their cocks were rock hard and wet, and Heahmund could feel that Ivar’s tip was losing a few drops.

„Stop ikke nu, Heahmund… not now…”, Ivar whimpered, releasing the hard bite of his canine teeth to whisper these desirable, exciting words to his skin. With these words, Heahmund suddenly realized that Ivar was also struggling with his inner hatred and that his approaching orgasm would break everything open.

Ivar’s hands tightened and Heahmund accelerated the movements between them. It soon came to him too, he felt it.

It was like a curse, the bittersweet words Ivar groaned - like a curse sticking to him that would never leave. And Heahmund wanted more, he literally wanted to cast out the devil.

His grip on their cocks became tighter, coarser, and the intense rubbing of her tips and lengths became unbearable.

And then, with a sound like he was choking inside, Ivar’s nails clawed into Heahmund’s flesh, scratched as deep and as hard as possible - and he came.

The young pagan almost cramped, pouring himself out so violently on his own belly. It had to be a completely intoxicating orgasm, because his tip continued to spurt and pound intensely, and Ivar gasped for breath, searched Heahmund’s skin on the neck again and bit again.

It was the little bite and the sight of the trembling and coming body of Ivar that brought Heahmund over the top of the mountain and made him come as well. His head went blank and he didn't know where he was for a moment. His orgasm wiped it all out, it was just there, and it was more violent than ever. There seemed to be endless moments of coming when he and Ivar were one - and he loved the thought of marking Ivar's body with his juice, he loved the intoxicating feeling of perfect power over the young body among himself, which was still violently trembling. He just loved the perverted thought that he was fucking his enemy ... Endless moments when their bodies melted so tightly together that there seemed to be no heaven or hell.

A perfect moment of absolute peace. A moment of heaven.

It was hard for Heahmund to find calm breath after these moments of excitement, and his heart was pounding hard. He had closed his eyes slightly and he could hear Ivar breathing just as violently as he did. Thunder rumbled in the distance and only a slight movement from Ivar made Heahmund open his eyes and brought him back to reality.

Their eyes met. A few strands of dark hair had loosened from Ivar’s braids and his cheeks were blotchy, very light - but he grinned softly, and the pretty canines showed up again over the full lips.

Heahmund pushed himself up with his forearms and returned the look, but not the smile. He was still dizzy from the intoxicating feelings that had all been mixed up and the bad conscience that was slowly creeping in, a low voice, a prayer.

_Please forgive me, oh Lord, because I have sinned._

-

Heahmund tried really hard - he wanted to avoid those looks, he didn't want to look across the table, not even for a moment, not to his counterpart.

Because at the evening meal, which the entire following took, not only was the king present, oh no - to Heahmund’s misfortune he was sitting diagonally opposite Ivar and his father Ragnar, and for a moment Heahmund had really cursed this seat.

Because no matter how hard he tried to look at the king, Eckbert or other people - something kept pulling him in the direction of the young pagan, who seemed as distracted as he himself. Their eyes met briefly, and yet there were seconds of strange emotions in Heahmund when he met the clear blue eyes. There was a twitch in the corner of his mouth for a moment, and Ivar had to suppress a soft grin; he turned back to his father, who was talking to King Eckbert.

Heahmund was cutting a piece of meat when an extremely soft voice spoke to him from the side.

"Forgive me for my curiosity, dear Bishop, but I couldn't help but notice the fresh wound on your cheek. Should I get a maid to take care of it? "

It was the soft voice of Alfred, the youngest offspring of King Aethelwulf. Everyone knew the story of Alfred, but Heahmund thought he was a bright, intelligent boy - he had often talked to Alfred about God after a mass.

But the question froze him for a moment; the knife with which he cut his piece of meat stopped moving, and from the corner of his eye he could see two pairs of blue eyes curiously looking at him. Of course, Ivar stared. After all, he was the reason for this unsightly wound!

Heahmund’s thoughts raced and he looked up to meet Alfred’s bright, curious eyes. The boy certainly didn't want to annoy him, certainly not ... But if he only guessed what had really happened…

In the meantime, Eckberts’s gaze had turned to him, although Heahmund wanted to avoid waking up more attention.

"You weren't fighting? Did I miss a battle?” Eckbert let out, and some people laughed. Heahmund put on a neutral smile and forced himself to keep looking at Alfred before saying with a slight throat clearing:

"Oh no, certainly not. I - I was just careless with the razor blade.” He couldn't think of anything better, and when he glanced at Ivar, the heathen took a sip from the mug of beer in front of him. But his eyes glowed.

"Oh, that happens sometimes. Should I get the maid?” Alfred replied, but Heahmund shook his head and turned back to his plate. He was feeling incredible hot inside.

"No, no problem for such matters, please. I am well."

"Fascinating." a deep voice said suddenly from across the table, and when Heahmund looked up a little panicked, he saw Ragnar looking at him curiously and with an amused smile. "Looks almost like my son's scar."

With the last words, there was suddenly a soft snort and a subsequent, light cough, because Ivar had choked on his beer and put the mug down to gasp for breath. Heahmund rolled his eyes slightly, but too late - Ragnar’s eyes were already on his own youngest sprout and he grinned broadly.

"Yes - look! Almost in the same place.” the great Viking said, roughly gripping Ivar’s chin to turn his cheek in Heahmund’s direction. Heahmund just glanced shortly at Ivar, who looked amazingly pale after the whole masquerade - but Heahmund quickly looked away again.

"A coincidence," he said wearily, and Ragnar let out a loud laugh.

"But what sort of a coincidence! You're not doing any nonsense, do you, boy?” he said loudly and amused, and Ivar’s cheeks turned a dark red - but he grimaced and hissed as he freed himself from his father’s firm grip.

"I despise the Christians, you know that very well, father," he said, hissing, and gave Heahmund a quick, intense look; Heahmund responded this look briefly before turning back to his plate.

But he didn't really manage to distract himself with the delicious food for a long time - after a few moments he felt that someone was watching him. And when he looked up in the direction he thought he was feeling it came from, he saw young Alfred, who had frowned a little. Many of the people started funny conversations again, including Ragnar and Eckbert, but Alfred remained silent.

When Heahmund smiled at him, Alfred returned the smile, if softly - but something in his eyes was wrong. There was a strange glow in it, and Heahmund felt light, barely noticeable goose bumps across his back.

Because something told him that the young prince might not quite believe the shaving story after this situation.

His hunger suddenly disappeared, and he put his knife and fork aside. He reached for the cool mug of beer and, as soon as he put it on his lips, drank it all in one go. When he put down the cup a little louder than necessary, Ivar looked up. They stared at each other for a while, and Heahmund wondered why _he_ had been cursed to meet this young man.

Ivar looked at him as intensely as Heahmund looked at him, but after a while the young Pagan's gaze drifted aside, and then again onto his plate. Heahmund didn't have to look aside to find out who had broken the twos eye contact.

He had to be damn careful because maybe - if he went too far now - more than just his salvation was at stake.

Something like today was never allowed to happen again…


	6. ~ ~ ~ A t N i g h t ~ ~ ~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your lovely comments, kudos and subscriptions! I'm so happy and I hope you like the new chapter ... Have fun and have a wonderful week! <3

"There were rumors from the farmers - far away in the west."

Heahmund leaned back in the wooden chair and looked at King Aethelwulf and Eckbert, who were sitting opposite him at the large table. A maid poured wine, and although Heahmund wasn’t really keen on any alcohol right now, he raised the mug and took a sip. The wine was sweet.

"Rumors?" Heahmund repeated after he took another long sip; Aethelwulf nodded slightly; his eyes looked cloudy.

“Rumors about foreign ships that were in the harbor. But they don't know who it is, and nobody saw anyone. So far, no deaths have been reported,” Aethelwulf replied dully, but his eyes spoke a different language.

Heahmund thought for a moment. If he was honest, he didn't feel like thinking about any attacks that came from whoever. No - a wild struggle had been going on in his head since yesterday, running all the way through his body. Lack of sleep and hunger marked his features, because after yesterday he wasn’t able to think clearly. Only a wild pagan raged in his heart, a monster with whom he had exchanged _absolutely forbidden_ intimacies - and it devoured him. His conflict tore apart his belief in the good and in everything he was used to. Because where had God been? Why had he let Heahmund do this? Because he was weak? Had he lost the exam?

"Well, what do you think?" Eckbert's voice interrupted him, and Heahmund found himself wincing hardly noticeably.

"I think ..." he said roughly and took another sip of wine before balancing the mug in his hand; "... I think it doesn't have to be pagans that entered our countries. We know that they actually always start raids immediately and always behave conspicuously. And since we don't have any fatalities, I don't think they are. Maybe a few traders from the Orient. "

"What if this is a tactic? We couldn't withstand an attack if we were surprised.”

"Why do you think, my Lord, should they surprise us?"

"Well ... Ragnar Lothbrok and his youngest son Ivar are in our captivity."

Heahmund raised his head at the name Ivar; his wound on the cheek suddenly seemed to itch and he tried to scratch himself very inconspicuously. Aethelwulf stared at Heahmund, and Heahmund looked back.

"They couldn't have sent a message," Heahmund said dryly, and something in him felt uncomfortable. He was warm even though the hall was cool and he noticed how his hand lost balance with the mug - so he put the mug down and continued to look at Aethelwulf as if no inner chaos was about to break out. Even if this clearly happened ...

"Do you think so? Heahmund, I need your complete trust and honest opinion. It's about our country, about our church."

No sooner had Aethelwulf uttered these words than Heahmund snorted and ran his fingers through his beard. He stared at the mug of wine for a moment - a drop of deep red was running down the side of the cool metal, and with a shallow heartbeat reminded him of a drop of blood.

_Heathenblood._

"My lord, if I understand you correctly, I should find out about what's going on there?" He said wearily, and when he looked up, he saw Aethelwulf nodding. It was a slow, almost cautious nod, and Heahmund sighed.

"I can't stand the presence of these devils."

"You must. Find out what you can! I think the boy could trust you."

Heahmund winced. He raised his eyes to Eckbert, who had said these words, and he felt incredibly hot inside.

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, it was his look last night."

"His ... his look?"

"Is he certain of your hostility?"

Heahmund paused for a moment - something furious raged through his body, and a shallow pain pierced his chest. What had he done? Had he jeopardized his belief for this monster? Had he become a _pagan friend_ in the eyes of the others?

_No way! Never while he was alive and breathing air through these lungs!_

"He is, my lord. I'll take care of it.” Heahmund replied quietly and got up, not without drinking the last bit of the wine. Because he had hardly eaten anything today, the wine immediately got into his head.

"Thank you, you are a true friend and servant."

With a light and extremely short bow, Heahmund moved away from the great hall, not without feeling the two men looking at him again as he closed the large winged doors behind him.

-

He didn't go straight to Ivar.

His inner turmoil had grown too much, and he had to go to his room to calm down after two deep screams and a kick against the wooden table. With a soft gasp he leaned his forehead against the cool stone wall in his room, and took a deep breath, in and out again and again.

_He hated himself._

He hated himself for betraying his own people, for the fact that he had let something so impure so close to him - that he had let himself be touched by that the devil who had seduced him. Every fiber in his body cried out for retribution, cried out for revenge, cried out for wanting to undo everything. The inner conflict broke him - he felt as if he were soiled, as if he had been taken.

_Like possessed._

And there was something else in it, too.

It was small and rolled up very tightly, deeply hidden in the depths of his soul. That something always came up when he thought of the blue eyes and when he thought of the feeling of the foreign, bare skin on his. When he thought of the beautiful white teeth, the cheeky laugh that made him fight inside. The bite, the soft whimper in his ears, the hand that didn't want to let go of him ...

What kind of magic was this?

He felt cursed. Cursed and left alone with everything he had ever believed in. With a soft curse on his lips, he turned his body so that the back of his head was leaning against the stone wall, and he glanced up at the ceiling.

_Hear our cries, lord, and let light come into the darkness._

He closed his eyes for a moment, inhaled and exhaled deeply. And when he couldn't bear the noise in his ears anymore, he pushed himself off the wall and decided to put an end to this witchcraft. He was no more than a young man who knew no boundaries, nothing more.

_Nothing more…._

It was already late evening twilight and the crickets began to chirp when Heahmund opened the door to Ivar’s room with a firm movement and closed it behind him. He turned the key to security to make sure no one else could enter the room, and only then did he turn around and find the young pagan sitting at the table.

Ivar didn't raise his head and didn't say anything - he looked busy. His slim fingers were loosening some of the many buckles and clasps around his right leg. Not sure if Ivar had heard him, Heahmund stepped closer.

The fine braided hair on Ivar’s head looked nice tonight, his sides seemed freshly shaved. When Heahmund stopped short in front of him, he cleared his throat.

"I'm here now and we need to talk," Heahmund said softly, but Ivar didn't raise his head. There was a soft snort and he released another clip from his leg.

"I know you're there," Ivar replied wearily; he continued with another clasp. "One can't miss it when you come, and one can't unsee to notice it either. Because one can feel you as soon as you enter a room, my dear Christian."

"Oh yes? And how do you feel it? "

"You are a strong man and a warrior. This leaves traces.” With these words, Ivar’s fingers loosened and he raised his eyes to Heahmund.

Blue, clear eyes met his, and Heahmund couldn't help but notice that they shone even more than usual today. A strange feeling twitched in him, but he tried to cover it up.

"Like your traces. One can feel the devil when he's in a room."

Ivar gave a chuckling laugh; his teeth flashed in the glow of the candles and he leaned back slightly in his chair.

"You are very keen on your belief, aren't you? We both know what happens after we die. Namely what we believe in our hearts and not what is in a stupid book."

"Can you even read at all?" Heahmund countered, and Ivar hissed. He didn't answer for a moment, then lowered his voice. He was still looking at Heahmund.

"I can read runes, but not your scripture, no. What for? I don't need salvation or a god. I need my gods, that's all."

"Then you're damned, Ivar the boneless," Heahmund replied. He broke the eye contact and sat in the other chair that was right next to Ivar’s. The young heathen turned towards Heahmund and snorted softly.

"You look exhausted. And depressed,” Ivar remarked, and Heahmund glanced at him again. The boy did not look at him with a mocking gaze this time, nor amused. He looked much more interested, and his lips were slightly open.

The two looked at each other for a moment, without words. Only the breathing of their bodies could be heard and the slight chirping of the crickets, since Ivar had opened the window slightly. Then Heahmund let out a soft laugh and leaned his neck deep against the back of the chair. He closed his eyes, and with a soft shadow on his inner eye, he could feel Ivar leaning closer.

He could smell it - and it smelled so good. Wild and unapproachable, and involuntarily his tongue reminded him of the taste of Ivar’s soft skin that he had just sunk into yesterday.

"You're very attentive," Heahmund murmured, and Ivar laughed softly.

"I know. I notice a lot. You didn't even stare at my legs today.” Ivar’s voice was as soft as his laugh, and Heahmund wondered if the boy actually had two faces. Maybe - like himself, apparently.

"Why should I?"

"I - people always stare. You… they don't really know it… well, this.” There was something tired in Ivar’s voice when he said this, and Heahmund tried to build a wall internally - but too late. A warm feeling slipped into his limbs and something like sensation burned into his flesh.

The wound on the cheek started to itch again.

"I’m not the people."

Silence, and then a noise that sounded like the moving of a chair. And there was a smell that was getting closer ...

"I know. You're different from the others. You're a true warrior.” Ivar’s voice had come closer, and Heahmund could not stand the tingling sensation of this blind game, which was why he opened his eyes. Ivar had actually come closer, and his eyes were shining wildly.

"Do you have an army on the way to here?" Heahmund let out, because he didn't want to risk this closeness again. He hoped that the young pagan would take up the abrupt change of subject with rage, and indeed the features of Ivar darkened immensely. He bared his teeth slightly and leaned closer to Heahmund.

"What army? Don't you think it would have been noticed if an entire army ran through your countries? How foolish!"

"Foolish? Oh no. We know your pitfalls, your wicked, secret attacks and your thirst for blood…” Heahmund hissed, and Ivar laughed out loud.

Then he moved closer to Heahmund and suddenly tore at the collar of his armor - the leather was soft, but Ivar's grip was hard. Heahmund’s spirits stirred and his body tensed.

"Even if it weas like this, it would be too late! You've long since fallen into a thirst for blood yourself,” spat Ivar, and Heahmund pushed him roughly away.

"No way! I desire nothing but my faith!"

"You desire me!" Ivar shouted, and Heahmund was out of breath for a moment. He stared at the young man, met the venomous look as angrily as he was looked at, and his hand shot up and slapped Ivar firmly in the face. There was a smack and Ivar licked his lips.

"How dare you!?"

"You don’t believe me?"

Heat. Heat everywhere, and the wine suddenly rose to Heahmund's head. His fingers clawed against the back of the chair and he glared at Ivar.

"No. This is the very last thing in the world that I would do! Not even in death..."

"Not even in death? You've already done it! And you love it, I can see it in you. You can't help it ... once tasted the Viking blood and you want more ... I'll show you ... " Ivar let out a wild gasp, and before Heahmund could say anything, Ivar had sunk to the floor so incredibly quickly that Heahmund didn't came to fight back.

Maybe his arms were too numb and his body too weak. Yes, it had to be like this, he told himself when Ivar came crawling to his legs with a rough movement, like a mangy snake, eyes flashing and white teeth bared.

Slim hands crawled up his dark pants, gripped his thighs cheekily and hard, rubbed his cock through his pants. Heahmund wanted to fight back, but all he saw in his tumult was that his hand found a way into Ivar’s dark hair and clawed into it. The young pagan hissed slightly as Heahmund tugged at it playfully, and he released a breathtaking grin.

"I want to taste you, Heahmund, _your highness_ , on my tongue. I want to give you what you gave me yesterday ... No, let me!” Ivar let out when Heahmund pushed his head slightly to the side, if half-heartedly.

His waistband was opened so quickly that he didn't even have words. What kind of devil was Ivar? Why did he learn how to play so fast or did he already know it?

"You'll regret this, damn heathen,” Heahmund gasped, suppressing a wild murmur as Ivar’s slender fingers gripped his hardening cock and eyed it curiously. His fingers gripped the hard flesh, and he made a couple of gentle movements, up and down, which nevertheless caused Heahmund to exhale heatedly, causing Ivar’s eyes to flash.

"Maybe, maybe not. We only live once, Christian." Ivar whispered, and his soft pink tongue appeared slowly between his lips before he closed it with a gentle movement around Heahmund’s rock-hard cock.

"Heavenly father... _Fuck_!" It was a bittersweet curse on Heahmund’s lips, a whispered prayer, a cry for help that was lost in another groan as Ivar slowly moved his head up and down. The soft tongue was an ordeal, and although Ivar seemed completely inexperienced, he simply tried it out. He licked the tip of Heahmund’s cock, let his full lips slide up and down again, teased the length of his cock with his bright tongue.

There was nothing Heahmund could do other than to bury his right hand in the braids of the pagan hair and direct his head lightly - he could do nothing else. His senses were deaf to everything around him and he closed his eyes, drowning in the seductive game that was happening at his feet.

Young Lothbrok was a good student. He listened to the subtle nuances of Heahmund’s groans, absorbed every little movement and knew after a while when it felt particularly good.

Sweat broke out and Heahmund suppressed a violent moan as he felt his cock swell more and more in Ivar’s mouth.

"I can't hold back any longer -" he whispered, trying to drive the bittersweet sight out of his heart, but he didn't miss the small grin that the talented boy was wearing in the corner of his mouth.

He only briefly loosened the lips of Heahmund’s penis and sighed softly. "I want to taste you, Heahmund. I already said this."

And there it was. A hot, brutal wave of lust shot through Heahmund's body, causing him to shake, and it only took a few more soft, gently sucking movements of that divine mouth as he came in Ivar's mouth, with an absolutely choked moan, and his cock spurted hot onto Ivar’s sweet tongue. Ivar took every sip as if it was the best wine in the world, and alone this simple fact brought Heahmund to the verge of madness.

He felt the gentle removal and one last suck of Ivar’s mouth like an ordeal, and he whimpered slightly as the pagan pulled his head back, still accompanied by Heahmund’s sweaty hand.

The tongue slipped over his lips to lick a last drop, and with a soft gasp Ivar leaned back and glared at Heahmund, who was still completely out of breath from this brief but violent surprise.

His bones were soft, and his body was pounding with satisfaction. He felt nothing but absolute satisfaction, which delicately burrowed into his body.

With an exhausted movement he buttoned the waistband of his trousers again, while Ivar pulled himself back into the chair next to Heahmund with a smooth movement. He straightened his hair a little, then smiled contentedly in Heahmund’s direction.

"If there is one thing you should learn, Christian, it’s that we always have the element of surprise on our side. Always."

Heahmund snorted slightly but couldn't find any words in his head that could counter something good. He was too tired, too satisfied, too full of the wonderful sight that had just burned into his head.

But he returned Ivar’s smile after eyeing him a little pejoratively. A gesture of humor, and Ivar understood because he was smiling broadly.

"And still, you're amusing me, heathen," Heahmund said softly before he supported himself on the chair with both arms and stood up. Ivar looked up at him, soft blue in his eyes, and his eyes were questioning. But the young heathen paused as Heahmund slowly touched him at the side of his head.

"Do you think you can ...-" Ivar started, but he bit his full lower lip using the small canine when Heahmund gently pinched his ear.

"What can I do?" Heahmund asked, glancing at Ivar; the young heathen got slight red spots on the cheeks and his eyes briefly wandered over Heahmund’s armor.

"I sleep badly, from time to time, you know ..." Ivar pressed out, and the bite on the lip tightened. The eyes found Heahmund’s look again, who knew exactly what the boy wanted. But he didn't answer directly. He couldn't help but smile, a soft smile that appeared more naturally on his lips than it had in years.

"Tomorrow," he said shortly, giving Ivar’s head a slight nudge before turning towards the door.

Then he suddenly froze.

His eyes searched the room intensely, and a cruel surge of panic instantly tore through his veins, causing his body to shake from zero to one hundred.

He hurried to the door and gripped the wooden frame - because the door was open.

_Open!_

"Shit, damn it ..." Heahmund let out, and without another word he went into the hall and looked panickly for a person who had been there - but there was nobody. Panic pounded in his heart because he was a hundred percent sure he had locked the door - did anyone have a key? Or had he become forgetful?

The feeling of danger crept up his neck, and he realized again what he was doing here. But even after walking up and down several times, he found no evidence that anyone had been here - except for the open door.

Thoughts rustled in his head, and with a painful feeling he made his way to his own room. He didn't meet a human soul - and something told him that it wasn't a particularly good sign.

-

There was no thought of sleep that night, let alone rest. And Heahmund couldn't stand the uncertainty that had built up in his body since his discovery - he couldn't leave it like that.

Maybe the pagan knew more.

He was extremely quiet as he made his way across the dark, moonlit hallways of the castle that night; because he was not wearing boots, his footsteps could not be heard. Quietly like a cat, he made his way to the guest corridors and was surprised when he found Ivar's door a crack open; warm light fell only through a thin crack into the hallway, and he could hear soft voices.

For a moment Heahmund pressed himself against the wall and exhaled deeply - what was going on here? Was the king with Ivar? Or Eckbert? He just had to find out and his heart was beating faster than he expected.

But when he leaned against the wall behind the door, his back pressed against the cold stone wall, completely immersed in the shadow of the night, he heard a voice he would _never_ have expected.

It was Ragnar.

"You know that I'm not stupid, Ivar. What did you think of when you did this? “, the man's deep voice whispered through the night; there was a soft snort, a snotty one.

"I didn't do anything, father! I didn't think anything because I didn't do anything."

"Listen! Damn…” a rumble sounded, and someone let out a soft whimper. Heahmund clenched his hands into fists and listened intently.

"We are not here for fun. I know that you are fascinated by the Christian, but believe me when I tell you that he is dangerous! I saw your passion for him, Ivar, and I forbid you - "

"What are you talking about, father? What passion? I _hate_ the Christians, and especially him…” Ivar’s voice was a little tight and Ragnar laughed deeply.

"Oh, is that so? And the wound on his cheek left Freya behind? Hm? As a mark? Do not consider me foolish, Ivar, only my wit was able to ensure that no turmoil broke out today! I know exactly what it triggers in you. I know this curiosity about the Christians and believe me, Ivar, in the end it will only hurt you. They are dangerous and treacherous, rarely with a pure heart. Only Athelstan was ... you won’t see him again. "

"That's not fair! How am I supposed to stay away from him when it has been ordered to him? I cannot influence that."

It was suffer in Ivar’s voice, Heahmund heard it exactly. The words of the two tore him into a dark hole and brought something uncomfortable to his veins, and he slipped a little closer to the door to hear better.

But his veins burned with anger ... He had been so stupid ...

"If you can't do this, I haven't raised you properly."

Footsteps came closer, but just outside the door the shadow turned again, which had entered the lighted crack. Heahmund held his breath for a moment.

"If I see you on your knees like a dog in front of this man again, he'll lose his head." Ragnar let out. The darkest and most angry feelings he had ever felt boiled up in Heahmund - so the heathen king had a key. Where did he get it from? Who had been sloppy and had misplaced it? It was impossible…

Heahmund pressed himself hard against the wall behind the door when Ragnar went out; he sent a prayer to heaven that the great Viking would not see him - and indeed: Ragnar closed the door quietly, paying attention only to his hands.

He uttered "By Odin, it still smells like him ..." before turning in the direction Heahmund wasn't standing. To all his luck.

But something in Heahmund held him back. Normally he would have attacked the traitor like a wild bull, but when he stared after the big man, his instinct told him to take some time.

Nonetheless, he felt betrayed in some way. The blood roared in his ears and he wondered what to do - he had no evidence of this situation, and what if Ragnar didn't have the key the next day?

Another feeling crept into his body, and that was the deep, abysmal shameful feeling of having been caught. Ragnar had seen them both today, and he hadn't been shy enough to say a few prohibitive words to his youngest son. But what were these godless people up to?

Did they have a plan? Was Aethelwulf right about his worries?

Heahmund was about to go back to walking back to his room, because he couldn't do anything at this time of night - as a soft, terribly tormented sob wrenched him out of his thoughts. Goosebumps ran down his neck and he leaned his head back towards the door.

There it was, clearly. He heard another sob in the silence of the night, and the feeling of disgust and shame paired with something that he had himself always forbidden: compassion.

Something in him shouted: _Go to him. Tell him everything will be fine. Tell him you're not a monster. And that he is neither._

Heahmund winced. He was feeling feverish and he was starting to sweat as if a mighty fight was beginning in his body; he had to fight hard, very hard against the emotions that suddenly entered and wanted to outcome his body, but then he thought again of Ragnar's words and the words of his king, and he became painfully aware of what he was actually just doing here.

His foot hesitated, but after another, heavier sob from the room, Heahmund pulled himself together and walked away from the door. Far away from _him_.

He didn't sleep that night.


	7. ~~~ T h e B i t t e r s w e e t N i g h t ~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It will be dirty today, my dear friends! :D Have a wonderful saturday night! <3

Drop by drop fell from the sky, transforming the otherwise sandy sections of the inner courtyard of the castle into a valley of mud; only now and then did some servants or maids run through the courtyard, always quickly so that they did not get too wet. Only Heahmund sat wearily on a small wooden bench, only flanked by a small wooden roof, outside, staring at the floor, watching the rain build up bigger and bigger puddles. And although the bishop looked like he was praying in a state of deep trance, his mind raced faster than an army ready to attack.

His thoughts kept circling around yesterday’s night, around yesterday evening - and no matter how he turned it around, he couldn't make a decision that was right. Certainly, he didn't want to see the pagan anymore, and he certainly wanted to find out what kind of game they were playing - but the quiet feeling crept over him that something inside of him had gotten terribly mixed up. Even before he went to bed full of throbbing rage, he hadn't been able to get Ivar out of his head. The blue eyes chased him, chased him into his dreams. But it wasn't just bad there, not just a nightmare.

Something was happening inside him. It was a gradual but steadily growing process that terrified him and made him doubt his belief: he developed something like sympathy for the young Viking. And although Heahmund always tried to persuade himself that it was because of the incredibly eager sin, because of the sheer lust that drove them together, his heart punished him and kept pounding one word: _liar_.

The rain grew heavier, and when Heahmund looked up at the small wooden roof, he saw that it would not hold tight for long. So, he got up with a soft sigh and straightened his somewhat soaked armor before running his hand through his black hair and heading towards the large hall. He only met a maid who bowed to him but gave him a strange look. Maybe because he had just sat outside for hours in full rain - maybe because he otherwise loathed rain deeply.

Or - quite possibly - also because for the first time in his life, he felt that he was losing his sight of a goal.

-

Before he understood where his feet were carrying him, he was a little out of breath at the door of the guest room, where he had spent more time than anywhere else in the past few days. He even had missed the masses more often than usual because of the pagan exuberant and was only insultingly represented by Father Jonathan.

But before he put the key in the lock, Heahmund paused. For a brief moment he closed his eyes and asked himself a question: What did he want here? Seconds passed and there was a strange feeling of dizziness. But he didn't find an answer. Something had brought him here, and whatever it was - he couldn't turn around now anyway. He couldn't stand his own restlessness anymore.

The key turned almost silently in the lock, and Heahmund took a deep breath before stepping into the room and closing the door behind him. So that nobody else could unlock the door, he left the key in the lock from the inside. A strange tingling in the neck told him that it was better this way.

When he finally looked up after what felt like an eternity, he saw the young Viking sitting on the soft bed, and his blue eyes had narrowed slightly. His eyes were almost bitter, and he looked at Heahmund strangely distant. Something in Heahmund twitched nervously. Like a rock fall, a shallow pain.

"What do you want here, Christian? I don't want to see you.” Ivar let out roughly; he looked fragile on the bed, and Heahmund immediately saw why. He was wearing no buckles and clasps today, no greaves, just black linen trousers. The rails and crutches were put neatly beside the bed, and Ivar had stretched his legs out on the bed and eyed Heahmund with slight disgust.

"I don't care whether you want to see me or not - you have probably forgotten why I have to spend my time here every day, huh?" Heahmund replied rougher than he wanted to; Ivar’s almost helpless sight had hit him. He had never seen the young man without the rails, and his legs looked almost thin in his pants. But Heahmund didn't look there long - his eyes quickly found Ivar’s face again, and the boy’s features had darkened even more.

"Go. I don't want to see you. “, Ivar pressed out and he pulled his legs a little to the side where Heahmund was not standing. With a soft movement, Heahmund crossed his arms over his chest, and with a few steps he was on Ivar’s right side of the bed.

The Viking hissed softly, pulling his legs away from the Christian. But Heahmund stopped where he was and stared down at the boy, in whose eyes he now saw more than just anger. Something damp glistened in it, and he even thought he saw a little bit of sadness.

"I will not go. You know I have to be here,” Heahmund replied, sitting on the edge of the bed; with a quick and almost panicked movement Ivar slid to the side, but he did not manage it well. His legs seemed to have only little feelings in them, hardly being able to perform any movements, because he kept reaching for them with his hands to pull them away. As if he couldn't move his legs on his own.

Heahmund looked at Ivar’s legs for a moment, then his eyes lifted again. _Strange_ , he thought, supporting himself on the bed with one hand to get a little closer to Ivar. _I’m not nervous at all. And not tense._

Ivar’s eyes widened and he looked at the Christian with big eyes; besides anger there was panic in it, now Heahmund could see it clearly when he was so close to Ivar. The Viking looked first at Heahmund’s hand and arm, then his clear eyes focused on his face, and they both looked at each other.

"Please go. I can't see you." Ivar's mouth was slightly open, and the full lips trembled slightly. It was almost as if Ivar had dropped a mask with the rails, because for the first time he looked human to Heahmund, at least more human than ever. He was a pagan, and he was scum, and he hated this boy - and yet, he sat here and forbiddingly inhaled the fragrance of his counterpart. Goosebumps formed as he moved closer to Ivar.

"You _can't_ see me, or you don't _want_ to see me?"

Silence, and Ivar’s mouth opened again, very light and soft, and yet he closed it again. He stared at Heahmund, and the anger in his eyes almost disappeared with a slight movement, still moving a little away from Heahmund.

"I cannot. Please go. I can't ask you again.” Ivar’s voice was completely soft, almost a whisper, and it caused a soft tingling sensation on Heahmund’s neck. He returned the Viking's shy look, and when he made a movement, he saw him moving back away a little.

But he didn't get very far; he wasn't fast enough to drag his legs, and suddenly it was Heahmund who came closer incredibly fast and yet pushed him towards the mattress without touching him. Ivar let out a soft, violent breath, and Heahmund didn’t break the eye contact between them.

"I will not go, you know it very well. Besides, you don’t want me to go.”

"Heahmund, what -" Ivar gasped; but Heahmund was already leaning too close to him, one arm on each side of Ivar’s body to support himself. It made no noise when Ivar’s head lay on the reddish pillow, guided solely by Heahmund’s intoxicating presence. Heahmund himself didn't know what was happening to him - but there was nothing he could do. It was almost like his body was moving on its own.

"Tell me." Heahmund murmured gently against Ivar’s face, and Ivar’s chest visibly rose and fell; the young Viking swallowed, and for the first time he looked vulnerable, small - and absolutely desirable. Heahmund’s hand went up, lightly brushed the sides of Ivar’s head, which were as nicely braided today as they were yesterday. A light touch and the Viking started to tremble.

Heat broke out in Heahmund.

This boy drove him crazy. Yes, and _how powerful_. But today there was no anger. No wild feelings, except a desire that got bigger the closer he got to Ivar with his face. _Lust_.

"Go, right now," Ivar pressed out between his teeth, and when Heahmund came closer to his face, the heathen swallowed hard again. His free hand sank next to his body, and yet he looked at Heahmund, even if he blinked in between. For a moment they just looked at each other, Christian above heathen, and the oppressive silence was their only companion. Until Heahmund could no longer withstand his inner urge, and he also bridged the last few millimeters between them and kissed Ivar with his mouth slightly open.

Ivar’s body reacted similarly to the first few times - he stiffened immensely, and yet his back arched slightly into the soft mattress below him; for a few moments Ivar’s body really froze, until he gave in to Heahmund’s lips and suddenly violently returned the kiss.

The reply came so suddenly for Heahmund that he gave a slight hiss; but the inner heat took its toll. He grabbed Ivar’s cheek with his free hand, pulled the pagan closer and deepened the kiss. They let off each other to gasp briefly for a few seconds, when Ivar’s shocked eyes met Heahmund’s eyeing him; then the young pagan touched his cheek and he pulled him again into a deep, breathtakingly soft kiss.

He paused shortly afterwards; Heahmund struggled to find his way back into the reality, but his eyes found Ivar quickly.

"You have to go, Heahmund, I can't see you," Ivar whimpered almost bittersweet on his lower lip; Heahmund continued to lower himself on the beautiful body and tightened his grip on Ivar’s cheek. The fingers gripped the soft skin and he stared at Ivar.

"Who says that?" Heahmund whispered deeply, and although he knew exactly who said something like that - he wanted to hear it from Ivar’s mouth, honestly and rawly like the fire that was developing between them.

"My - my father ... you have to go now, or he'll kill you when he sees you here."

Ivar’s hands clenched lightly on Heahmund’s cheek, and he suppressed a soft whimper as Heahmund pressed an almost biting kiss on the cheek, pressing his body even closer to him; their shoulders almost touched, and their hips were close to each other.

"Now tell me that _you_ want me to _go_ and I'll go," Heahmund replied; he had looked up and supported himself on his forearms while looking at Ivar from above. The young Viking was trembling slightly; Heahmund could see that he was not used to this position and that something had to hurt him inside.

And yet Heahmund saw a conflict in these eyes, a violent, unpredictable conflict that took place in the deep azure blue. Ivar had never looked at him like this before, and he had never seen a Viking so exposed. And it was precisely this sight that suddenly put a smile on Heahmund's lips, at the completely inappropriate moment.

Ivar’s forehead wrinkled and his hand tightened on Heahmund’s cheek; he wanted to say something, but Heahmund got ahead of him.

"I think I want you. Honestly. And if you wanted me to go, you would have rammed the knife into my neck long ago, which you are carrying by your side.” Heahmund whispered, amused, and at the word "knife" Ivar jumped violently; his eyes looked completely confused and perplexed, but he still had his hand on Heahmund’s cheek, looking at the tall man spellbound.

"You're crazy, aren't you? Are all Christians like that?” Ivar said with a slight trace of anger in his voice, and Heahmund let out a soft, melodic laugh before staring at Ivar again.

"No, nobody is like me. And nobody is like you, Ivar."

Goosebumps ran down Ivar’s body at the sound of his name, and he stretched his neck out a little to give Heahmund an intense look.

Not a word fell between them, and then Heahmund felt the light stroking of a thumb over his lower lip and bit this thumb gently. Ivar’s lips opened softly - he looked at Heahmund for a few moments, and then he pulled the Christian down to him and kissed him tightly and urgently, as if their conversation hadn’t happened before.

They found their old rhythm so naturally and quickly, as if they had never been separated since the first kiss. Their lips harmonized perfectly, and even the soft, warm tongue, which Heahmund soon welcomed into his mouth, played so wonderfully freely and perfectly with his that it chased the sheer lust in every bone of his body.

Ivar’s hands moved from Heahmund’s face to his shoulders, holding onto them, while Heahmund released with a soft sigh from Ivar’s lips and moved his mouth to his chin; he covered it with delicate, light bites, slid down to the neck that Ivar voluntarily held out to him, and kissed him there too. The scent of the skin was magical and clouded all the senses.

He deliberately bit the tender skin on the neck a little harder because it brought him to a boiling point when Ivar gave a short, choked moan. The hands on his shoulders buried themselves more tightly, building up more pressure, which Heahmund automatically transferred to the warm skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, enjoying the soft pounding of Ivar’s pulse on his tongue, the taste of the skin, the breathing that increased rapidly as Heahmund’s hands slowly slid to the side of Ivar’s body.

The fingers gripped the light leather of the armor, searched for the cords and buckles; Heahmund felt his own pulse and excitement rise immensely in the body and took him the air to breathe, so it burned in his entire body to want to have the young pagan just for himself, naked, completely naked and whimpering underneath him. If he was going to hell forever, he wanted to take this cursed pagan with him, mark him as his. The reason for his sins ...

His fingers were extremely adept at putting off Ivar’s armor quickly and safely - almost gracefully removing all the tops from Ivar’s body until his wonderful torso appeared completely free in front of Heahmund’s eyes. He took a moment to examine Ivar’s body - wonderful muscles, wrapped in soft, desirable skin with a few scars and tattoos; until his eyes went back up to Ivar, who eyed him somewhat uncertainly but with immense pleasure in his eyes.

"Now you." Ivar said quietly, and his hands were opening Heahmund’s slightly wet armor with a certain unrest. Heahmund helped him. It wasn't long before the last layers of fabric were removed, and Ivar let out a low gasp as Heahmund lay down on his bare chest. Their skin and the heat in it harmonized so perfectly that it was an indescribably good feeling when their upper bodies pressed firmly against each other. Heahmund took a deep breath, eyed the blue eyes beneath him for a moment before leaning back down and kissing Ivar again.

A wonderful, warm feeling spread through Heahmund’s entire body, literally devouring his nerves, which were amazingly sensitive to explore the fine nuances of Ivar’s upper body. His fingers slid over his chest during the deep, breathless kisses, exploring the soft but stiff nipples that made Ivar move noticeably more - his upper body pressed harder into the mattress beneath him, and the kisses tightened. Heahmund could feel how sensitive the little one was to any intimate touch - and he loved it too much to worry about anything other than the slight moan in his ears and the whimpering breath on his neck, at whose side Ivar crawled as Heahmund's fingers slid deeper. They gently stroked the stomach, felt the strong muscles there, and found the waistband of the light linen trousers that Ivar was wearing as quickly as he wanted.

The pagan's body stiffened again, and he stopped the kissing between them; however, Heahmund took this only as a sign to continue. His fingers slid over the buttons as a matter of course, opening the pants despite Ivar’s twitching torso. When he had all the buttons opened, he glanced up at the pagan, who eyed him incredibly suspiciously. Sure, the lust was still hidden in the deep eyes, but still a clearly noticeable uncertainty shone through, which Heahmund sealed with a smile.

"Don't be afraid, Ivar. I won't hurt you. ”, Heahmund let out quietly, reached into the waistband and wanted to pull the pants down, but Ivar let out a whimper and his hands suddenly clawed at Heahmund’s while he had raised his upper body slightly.

"It's not that, I can't let you ..." Ivar said quietly, and he looked away slightly ashamed. A red, almost visible streak appeared on his cheeks, a blotchy blush, and he bit his full lower lip, sighed. "... well, I don’t want you to see them. I don't think it's the right choice."

Heahmund hesitated; his fingers were still buried in the waistband of the pants, and he looked at the Viking for a long time before answering quietly. "Have you ever trusted anyone in your life?"

Ivar hesitated, and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "No," he said curtly, and Heahmund slowly pushed Ivar’s hand away from his. His hands dug into the light fabric again, and Ivar gasped softly, eyes wide and anxious.

"Then trust me. I'm not loathed or afraid of it. Let me show you what the body is able to do if you just let it.”

Ivar wanted to say something, Heahmund saw it clearly - his lips parted slightly, and yet he only swallowed and nodded so lightly that it was hardly possible to register this as more than one movement. And his hands dropped off from Heahmund, even though his torso was still slightly raised.

Heahmund sensed that his own heart was beating harder than usual, and his pulse was racing as he climbed down the last millimeters from Ivar’s waist and pulled the material completely off his legs.

And he could understand at first glance why Ivar looked so terrified. The legs were thin and emaciated, and the bones looked strangely shifted in some places, as if they had suffered endless pain and fractures in life. Heahmund looked at them consciously, even though he felt the burning look from Ivar’s blue eyes, which recorded and registered every single movement of him.

But Heahmund didn't shy away, not for a second. Because suddenly he had a warm, soft ball of emotions in his stomach that told him how strong Ivar had to be that despite a life in pain and agony he had grown into such a confident and strong young man. So, he spread his fingers starting at the ankles that were deformed, which was certainly one of the reasons why Ivar always pulled his right leg slightly behind. Ivar gasped as Heahmund's hand closed around his ankles - Heahmund sensed that it was not out of pain, but probably out of pure shock, because apparently no one had ever touched the young Viking so gently on his legs before.

It was a quiet, very intimate moment when Heahmund slowly walked up the limbs with a soft swallow. The skin was soft, so soft, yet so weak that it began to tremble even with these slight movements. Ivar had laid his back on the mattress again, his head pressed against the reddish pillow, while Heahmund was walking up higher and higher with his hands, gently. And incredibly light. And it was these light touches that made Ivar’s cock hard in no time.

Heahmund couldn't hide his inner craving for the young body either. His cock was rock hard and pressed immensely against the inside of his pants; nevertheless, he continued to move up Ivar’s legs higher and higher with soft movements, while his eyes wandered fascinated again and again to the plump cock of the boy, who was trembling violently now.

"That's ..." Ivar let out, and a soft sigh cut through the intimate silence of the room; Heahmund felt a surge of heat rise inside him, and he let out a light moan because the whole thing excited him to the core.

"Shht. Not a word, little one.”, he whispered, and with a gentle movement his hands went up to Ivar’s cock, gripped him tightly, while he lay between Ivar’s legs with a gentle movement which he had spread slightly while stroking. Heahmund’s tense upper body was again over Ivar’s, and he looked down with pleasure at Ivar, who looked at him with eyes so bright that Heahmund felt a surge of excitement boil inside him.

His hand moved slowly but firmly around Ivar’s cock, and the boy opened his lips, let out a deep breath, while his upper body moved slightly under Heahmund.

"I want you, all for me, do you hear me? I want your body and I want it completely.”, Heahmund whispered to Ivar, leaned down and kissed the young pagan tightly; Ivar's lips quivered, and a soft thumping of his torso revealed to Heahmund that the boy was too excited again, so overwhelmed by the never-explored intimacy of his own body - and the pressure and closeness of Heahmund’s body, which pressed itself hotly against him.

Heahmund didn't ask. For him it was pure and raw lust that made him quickly pull down his own pants, and his hard and heated cock pressed wonderfully against Ivar’s; Fingers clawed his shoulder and Heahmund groaned softly. Ivar’s hip moved steadily, asking for more rubbing on the cocks, and a few drops of wet moisture rubbed against Heahmund’s cock, causing him to hiss.

_Oh God, he wanted this so much, he wanted to own this body, conquer it, sink into this desirable, hot heat._

He knew that his own eyes had to be glowing, fiery from all the excitement he felt - when he slowly let two of his fingers crawl up Ivar's chin, opening his slightly open lips even a little more, and his fingers immersed into the soft heat of Ivar's mouth. The pagan looked up at Heahmund, fiery and so intense that Heahmund exhaled violently. Whatever this was - it was driving him crazy.

As a matter of course, Ivar began to suck and lick on the fingers, inspired and challenged by Heahmund’s glowing eyes that fascinated and wildly followed the spectacle. He had already seen yesterday's hot game, but now he noticed it even more clearly - the young Lothbrok learned quickly. The heathen licked Heahmund’s finger with an astonishing certainty, and Heahmund hissed softly as the small, pointed canine bored into his index finger, punctuated by the blue, challenging eyes that made Heahmund forget what was actually happening here.

He pulled his fingers out of Ivar’s mouth after a few moments, and the heathen hissed softly; but Heahmund wasted no time. His cock was pushing too hard for Ivar’s body and he wanted it. All he could think of was the wonderful, sweet pleasure between them.

His hand went between the two bodies, and with a shallow movement he pushed the fingers between his legs under Ivar’s testicles. Ivar stared at him uncertainly for a moment, if only a trace - but then the fingers were already moving in Ivar’s most intimate place, circling the soft, slightly ruffled hole and finally penetrating it playfully, initially with one finger.

Heahmund couldn't hide a gasp of excitement as his finger dipped into the tight heat; Ivar’s back rose slightly, and he let out a soft hiss that sounded almost loud in Heahmund’s ear. Heahmund knew that it hurt slightly, but he showed no mercy and soon added a second finger, widening the narrow hole a little more.

Ivar started to sweat; his azure eyes were on Heahmund, and Heahmund could see the slight pain in the twitch of the corner of his mouth; then, however, suddenly and with a slight, twisting movement of the fingers, Ivar suddenly closed his eyes softly and pressed his pretty head into the soft pillow under him. The lips opened and bittersweet, soft moans escaped the pagan, while his hands clung tightly into Heahmund's forearm, which had leaned against his body. His fingers twitched as Heahmund made another, slightly twisting motion, and Heahmund couldn't help but pulling Ivar into a hot, snappy, breathless kiss, and he took the tremor of Ivar’s lips like a sin.

Ivar’s cock pounded, twitched, and Heahmund let out a moan. The movements tightened and he inserted a third finger, which the narrow hole nonetheless welcomed. Heahmund had never felt such wild, harsh lust in his life as in those moments; his cock was hardened to the brim, pressed sideways against Ivar’s cock, while the heathen’s hip movements revealed to him that he was headed straight for an orgasm.

How inexperienced the boy was, Heahmund thought; his upper body pressed more against Ivar’s, pressed him down as he removed his lips from Ivar’s mouth and pressed his head against Ivar’s ear.

"I want to fuck you, Ivar," he gasped breathlessly, and Ivar’s body twitched violently; cock to cock, fingers deep in his body, the young Viking started panting.

It took a moment before he pushed his head towards Heahmund, brushed against Heahmund’s hot cheek.

"Fuck me, _your grace_. Do it now!"

An extremely violent wave of lust shot Heahmund in the veins and particularly violently in his cock - he moaned softly, hastily pulled his fingers out of Ivar’s body, which the heathen expressed with a disapproving hiss. Still, Heahmund wasted no time; he felt that once he got into Ivar’s body he wouldn’t last long anyway.

He hurriedly spat into his right hand, gripped his plump cock with this hand and sprinkled it with spit before spreading Ivar’s legs a little more, gently so as not to hurt him. His pelvis was pressed between Ivar’s legs, and with a mechanical movement his cock was quickly at Ivar’s narrow entrance, while his upper body again lay over Ivar’s. He gave the little one a breath of pause before slowly pushing the tip of his cock into the opening.

His body sent more than a thousand hot pinpricks through his veins, Ivar felt so good and tight; Heahmund pushed and pressed his cock slowly and deliberately into Ivar, because he felt that the air stayed a little away from the heathen. Ivar’s nails clenched heavily on Heahmund’s shoulder and neck, tore the skin a little open, it must hurt so much - but Heahmund tried to calm him down with a couple of particularly soft kisses.

When he felt that his cock had penetrated Ivar almost to the end, he paused for a moment; his lips explored the soft hollow of Ivar’s throat, which the pagan also stretched out to him, even if his eyes were closed so tightly that small wrinkles formed on the sides. Heahmund’s tongue gently butted Ivar’s larynx, and the teeth gently stroked the skin, biting even slightly, before Heahmund started to move slowly.

It was like a blow to him when he pulled himself out almost to the end for the first time and then penetrated deep into Ivar again - his nerves were open, his body filled with wild feelings full of pleasure, and even Ivar loosened his convulsive grip after a few still slow movements clearly. Except for soft breathing, they made little noise; until Ivar suddenly let out an incredibly soft, throaty groan, which left Heahmund’s skin completely covered in goose bumps.

"Heahmund!" Ivar whimpered, so _damned desirably_ that Heahmund pressed his lips to Ivar's again. It was an incredible feeling when their two bodies became aware of the connection; all the senses were cut off and sharpened, absorbing every movement, every twitching and every groaning like a sponge. An unprecedented fire was boiling in Heahmund, and he could not forbid his body from making any small movements.

He followed Ivar’s body and its reactions so naturally and clearly that he seemed to know exactly when he could thrust into him harder; after a while Ivar loosely picked up the thrusts from Heahmund’s cock, rocking his hips gently to the beat, while his hands were steadily clutching into Heahmund.

"Damn, Ivar!" Heahmund let out; he had to bite his lip, forced himself to be quieter; because he didn't know if anyone could hear them despite the thick wooden door. His cock was as hard as never before when he kept entering Ivar’s body and sliding out to the end again; his nerve endings were already so flooded with good feelings that he would not be able to stand it for long. But the first thing he wanted to do was to make Ivar shake, he wanted the body under him to lose control and drown in his orgasm.

So Heahmund supported himself with both forearms from the bed, straightened his hip a little and pushed his cock more intensely into Ivar’s body with every movement, up to his bulging sack, which pressed itself perfectly against Ivar’s hole. He thrusted hard, as hard as Ivar’s body allowed; the young heathen gave Heahmund a burning, so fiery look that the Christian let out a deep groan as his cock penetrated Ivar even harder.

Ivar’s fingers dug firmly into Heahmund’s neck, and his body kept rearing up, asking for more, wanting more. And yet Heahmund saw the small, ever-widening openings in his lips that announced that the boy could no longer keep his lust under control.

"You want it, don't you? Come for me, you devil…” Heahmund hissed roughly, and his right hand automatically gripped Ivar’s plump wet cock and moved hard with the rhythm of the thrusts. Ivar closed his eyes tightly and his head pressed into the pillow with a vigorous movement, and his lips opened further until they let out a light breath.

Heahmund pushed his cock three or four more times into Ivar when Ivar's body suddenly stiffened, pressed into the mattress - and the boy gave such a suffocated, hard and choked moan that Heahmund had to pause for a moment so as not to directly come.

The contractions from Ivar’s narrow entrance were a torture for Heahmund and so firm that he paused for two thrusts while Ivar came trembling and violently, spilling hard on his own stomach. It was only after these two thrusts of pause that Heahmund dared to move his cock again, and with a few more thrusts he made himself come hard too.

It was an indescribable feeling when he poured himself raw and wild into Ivar and bucked every throb of his pumping cock deep; it brought him to the brink of cessation of breath, while his body reacted more violently than ever to an orgasm. His arms could no longer hold him, and he slumped down on Ivar, whose sweaty chest rose and fell violently during the last few thrusts. Their heartbeats beat at a breakneck pace; Heahmund blindly searched for Ivar’s carotid artery, lowered his teeth deep into the wildly throbbing flesh and pressed his last, wet movements into the heathen, who was so weak and unconscious that he could hardly hold onto him. His hands were soft and tired on Heahmund’s shoulders, and yet he swallowed slightly when Heahmund took away his firm bite from his carotid artery.

They lay there for quite a while, Heahmund above Ivar; still connected, heart to heart and head next to head. Heahmund sucked in the scent of Ivar’s wet skin - and that scent dug deep into his memory, so damn deeply, to a place he had never known existed.

His heart was still pounding when Ivar’s fingers buried in his hair and pressed him even closer, and they stayed like this for a moment. Moments passed in which Heahmund felt strangely secure and so infinitely good that he briefly thought that this was a good place to die. He would have had no objection to the blessing of time, wrapped in this fragrance, only surrounded by the gentle breathing of Ivar and the slender fingers that meanwhile gently stroked his hair.

After what felt like an eternity, Heahmund withdrew from Ivar; he could feel how much he had left in Ivar, and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly with benevolence. He lay to the side of Ivar, who immediately turned to him and looked at him with blurry eyes.

They didn't say anything immediately; when Heahmund put his hand gently on Ivar’s cheek, he felt Ivar’s face press lightly against it, while his eyes cleared again.

"Your church must have forbidden this to you," Ivar let out quietly, and Heahmund grinned slightly before leaning over Ivar’s face and kissing his forehead gently.

"Something like that," was his quiet answer, and it was the first time that a guilty conscience had not buried into his soul when he met the blue, now clearer eyes.

There was no sound anywhere; it was strangely quiet in the hallway, and only a slight dripping from the windows revealed that it was still raining. Heahmund allowed his soul a slightly proud look at Ivar’s stomach, which was speckled with the boy’s juice; and it aroused him slightly when he thought that he had marked Ivar as his - this body was _his_ area, it was _his_ lust, which was written in Ivar’s body ...

They were silent for a while and closed their eyes; how long, Heahmund didn't know. He only came back to his senses when Ivar pushed himself up slightly and put his hands on Heahmund’s neck, his eyes glowing again.

He bit his full lower lip with his pointed canine teeth and gave a soft gasp as he took Heahmund’s hand in his hand and led it down his body. Heahmund froze; but his limbs caught powerful, burning fire again when Ivar pulled his hand between his legs, deep down, until Heahmund found his own pleasure and fingered Ivar’s still open, splashed entrance.

"Do it again, Heahmund, please!" Ivar whispered coarsely and lustfully against his lips, and they kissed hard and eagerly, while Heahmund’s cock hardened again just by the feeling of his fingers on Ivar’s wet entrance. Only twice did he playfully poke his fingers in until he gave in to Ivar's groaning begging with a groan, and forced the young pagan down on the mattress with a rough jerk, pressed his pelvis again between the spread legs and his already hard cock pushed so smoothly and easily into Ivar's lustfully widened hole - and this made him feel so dizzy, when Ivar let out the rawest and coarsest groan he had ever heard. It left its mark, _clearly_ , and when the heathen’s nails drilled into Heahmund’s skin and Heahmund was thrusting into Ivar like a bull again, he wanted this night to never end.


	8. ~~~ D e e p W a t e r ~~~

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So my dear ones, it goes on! :) I have the feeling that this is going to be a very "slowly-building" story, but hopefully that doesn't matter! As is well known, calm comes before the storm, and we have nothing else here today ... :)! Thank you so, so much for your kudos, comments and subscriptions! Please leave me your opinion if you want to! :) Have a wonderful thursday! <3

"Is your scar healing satisfactorily?"

Heahmund winced when he heard the soft voice of young Alfred next to him - he had been so absorbed in the rustling of the wind outside that he had almost forgotten where he was. He had been giving the young prince lessons in christian doctrine once or twice a week for some time, and today was one of those days again.

Heahmund had remembered this morning a few seconds ago. He had woken up almost in panic, astonished with the first breath wondering where he was; until he looked next to him and discovered Ivar asleep, only half covered and bared his beautiful chest.

With a quiet breath Heahmund closed his eyes for a moment and let the throbbing in his body come up again that he had felt this morning as well - a deep, bloodcurdling throb. But before he drifted too deep into his thoughts, he turned to the young Alfred, who eyed him curiously.

"Yes, it is healing well.", Heahmund croaked and fixed his gaze on the table; the bible and other theses lay spread out there, and young Alfred lowered his head again over the sheet of paper that lay in front of him.

“It's amazing how sharp a razor blade can be, isn't it? Almost as sharp as a knife.” Alfred said softly, and Heahmund looked up and stared again at the young christian who was a little blushed on the cheeks. He didn't look at Heahmund but bit his lip. And Heahmund got a slight tingling sensation in the neck that uncomfortably pulled up to his fingertips.

"How do you mean that?"

“Well, I… I'm not accusing you of lying, Bishop Heahmund. No way. However, I noticed that Ragnar Lothbrok's son, Ivar, carries a knife with him that would fit the cutting width. I know that my grandfather calls you to see him every day, and I was worried if you had any problems with the pagan. Conflicts, you know?"

Heahmund swallowed. Certainly - this boy was not stupid, and Heahmund was shocked to see how attentive Alfred actually was. It must have been the scene at the table, he was sure - he had given himself away. But what should one reply to these words?

"Conflicts always arise with such differences of faith, and young Lothbrok is not exactly easy to deal with," Heahmund replied; a terrible feeling filled the pit of his stomach, and he tried to suppress it with a look at the bible. But it stayed.

"I like to believe that." Alfred said; then he paused slightly before he raised his eyes uncertainly and looked directly at Heahmund. Heahmund held out - even if he remained uncomfortable. “You still take your faith seriously, don't you? As for ... certain things. Sorry for my curiosity, but only yesterday I read something in one of the seven books of theses - celibacy. It should be imposed on every man with faith, but I imagine it to be very difficult."

Celibacy. What did Alfred know, and where had Heahmund made a mistake? The christian's eyes fixed on the young fellow, who pushed his elongated brown hair behind his ear and looked at Heahmund. The cheeks were as reddish as Ivar’s last night, and yet Heahmund didn’t know what to answer.

He paused for a moment; then he cleared his throat. “I take celibacy very seriously. However, it is human nature that love and… passion sometimes take over. It is not easy to withstand earthly exultations, but be sure that I can always follow my conscience. And every deviation is carried out hard with faith. I take my beliefs more seriously than life itself."

Alfred blinked a moment and the two looked at each other; then the young Christian looked down at his piece of paper again and began to draw. Heahmund nodded silently, even if the boy didn't see it - it had to be enough as an answer.

With a slightly shaky exhale, Heahmund leaned back in his chair and ran his fingers gently over the now tightening wound on his cheek - he felt a firm crust growing over it, and yet the touch at this point was so sensitive that it left goose bumps on Heahmund's skin.

-

The thoughts spun in his head. Although his body went in the direction of the guest wing by itself, Heahmund’s head throbbed with fears and worries. He wasn't sure what was going on anymore - and who he was. Since yesterday he had left a large part of himself in this room with the heathen, with Ivar. A large part of his longing, a large part of his lust - all of this had dug its way into the heathen body with his cock, and remained sweet in it. He couldn't explain it to himself no matter how often he tried; he kept coming to the conclusion that this was either witchcraft, some ancient pagan spell - or ...

Heahmund swallowed again and let out a low vibrating hiss before he took a step further - or it was, simple but true: _love_.

But he couldn't and didn't want to think of love. Love was taboo, love was definitely not this, love was meant for man and woman. Love was for the moments that one shared in old age, and love was there for God.

But for a heathen? For a young heathen with whom Heahmund shared a bed, but nothing else? That couldn't be love, oh no. It was at most passion, angry and desperate passion, coupled with a trace of pity for the boy.

Or?

_Oh lord, please help me._

Heahmund closed his eyes for a moment, took a few steps - when suddenly a hard blow hit him on the shoulder and made him lose his balance. He staggered slightly, opened his eyes and saw that he had bumped into someone with full force - and two deep blue eyes stared at him suspiciously, surrounded by slightly wrinkled skin.

It was Ragnar.

For a moment the two men just stared at each other. Heahmund could see a lot in those famous eyes - and yet they were veiled, even if there were traces of powerful anger in them.

"Oh, forgive me, _your holiness_ \- I must have overlooked you." Ragnar uttered after a while and bowed mockingly, while Heahmund twisted the corners of his mouth downwards.

Mockery and taunt, he didn't need to see this mocking bow to explore Ragnar’s true thoughts, and yet Heahmund nodded silently.

Ragnar cocked his chin slightly, still keeping a sharp eye on the Christian like a predator. Similar to his son.

"In such a hurry, huh? Is it going on... _educational excursions_ again?"

Heahmund let out a rasping laugh, and his blue eyes fixed on Ragnar’s. The great Viking had his arms crossed over his chest, and in the faint candlelight Heahmund saw the tattoos on his bald head like cruel bad news.

“Whatever you want to call it. I really hope you feel at home as a _guest_ in this house?”, Heahmund replied, putting as much dislike in his voice as he could. Although his heart was pounding and every muscle in his body was tense, he could not give up that mask of rigidity. He sensed a precarious situation, and he felt the all-too-thin cloth, the dull curtain that carefully separated the anger of the two men. But how long would it last? Heahmund took a step back, the Viking still in view.

Ragnar stared at him for a while, then turned to go. But before he was further away, the older man turned and nodded to Heahmund. "He's not there," he spat, and Heahmund started a hint of a slightly bow, even if it almost amounted to a sour eructation.

He waited until Ragnar was out of sight and only then turned, lost in thought, to the hallway that led to Ivar’s room. A strange, rough and wild throb appeared in his heart, which even ached slightly - what was going on here? For a moment Heahmund caught himself wondering if he was dreaming - because all of this seemed so far away from reality, so surreal, that he only started to walk again when someone further away slammed a door so hard, that a few light clouds of dust fell from the ceiling.

Ivar was really not in his room. Heahmund could smell that he had not been gone long - and yet there was no trace of where the young heathen had gone. Had his father told him to flee? And how could he have opened the door? With the key in his hand, Heahmund stood for a moment indecisively in the small room where the bed still looked extremely rumpled, as if the two had only just been there. The memory of last night made Heahmund sigh softly - then he heard a slight grumble through the sky and suddenly it began to rain outside.

And he didn't know why - but suddenly he was drawn outside, because something told him that the young heathen, who came from near the sea, might not be as averse to water as he was.

The rain outside was like a monsoonal. Heahmund knew that it always rained often in autumn - but today it was particularly heavy. The water from the sky was cold and uncomfortable, but Heahmund was too busy following the tracks in the mud. Because it wasn't just normal footprints; the ground also showed long dragging marks that could only have been made by a heathen who laboriously pulled his way through the mud with his crutches.

And Heahmund really didn't have to look far.

He saw Ivar in his black armor wading slowly and leisurely through the mud, and he saw at first sight that it must be incredibly strenuous. Because the crutch got stuck in the mud again and again, and Ivar pulled the crutch out with an angry snort, cursing in the nordic language. Heahmund took a deep breath and walked as quietly as he could towards the heathen, even if his feet also sank into the mud.

Individual strands had come off Ivar’s braid, and he was soaked in the rain. The leather of his black armor glistened with the water, but Heahmund could only see his face when he stood next to Ivar.

The young heathen winced so violently that he almost lost his balance.

"Hello, Ivar," said Heahmund. He had expected Ivar to look at him, return his gaze, but the boy didn't. He turned his head away hastily and took the next step in the mud. Something painful bored into Heahmund’s stomach, but he stood firm.

“I said hello! You don't mean to be rude- ", Heahmund began, but a cold voice cut him off.

"Go away." And even though Ivar’s voice sounded cold and hard, there was an involuntary tremor. The voice sounded almost broken, and Heahmund couldn't help but block the way of the heathen.

"I don’t go anywhere."

The rain barely allowed any details in his vision, but he saw clearly that Ivar was staring sternly at the ground in front of him, and that his cheeks looked pale and incredibly cool. He constantly avoided Heahmund's gaze, and Heahmund eventually had enough of it.

With a firm grip, he cupped Ivar’s chin and lifted the heathen’s face - and was almost startled when he met his eyes.

He had expected a lot but guaranteed not that. Not only that his face was covered with the rain - no, his eyes were reddened, and he seemed to be crying, because individual, if barely visible drops ran from Ivar's eyes.

Ivar bared his teeth and tore himself free; with an awkward movement he wiped his sleeve over his face, and with a hard push of his crutch he pushed Heahmund aside. Heahmund gave a short twitch and breathed out deeply, but the next moment he grabbed Ivar by the upper arm and pulled him closer. The mud made a stable stand almost impossible, but Heahmund used all his strength to hold Ivar.

"What's wrong with you? You can't just run away!” Heahmund said angry, but Ivar just hissed.

“I go wherever I want! Let go of me, you damned Christian."

His voice, Heahmund thought. His voice sounded so incredibly vulnerable, so incredibly weak and trembling. Ivar still avoided Heahmund’s eyes, but the christian grabbed Ivar’s chin again, much harder than before, and pulled the boy closer to him. Ivar lost his balance; the crutch got stuck in the mud, but his hands clung to Heahmund’s upper arms while he looked up at Heahmund with a twisted mouth.

The rain pelted on them both harder and it got so cold that their breath was noticeable in light clouds of steam from their mouths.

"Ivar ..."

“I can't do this, Heahmund, I… it's not in my blood! I can't ... I can't, don’t you see - what should the gods think of me?” Ivar uttered; his eyebrows drew together, and then young heathen could no longer hold the dam he had built for himself. Bitter tears flowed from his eyes, and for a moment Heahmund was too perplexed to even react.

He was still holding onto Ivar, and Ivar clutched on Heahmund as if he thought he was drowning. The cold rain felt like a cloak that enclosed them both, and yet Heahmund couldn't help but put a hand on Ivar’s cheek, lifting his chin up again.

Their eyes met, and although Ivar’s eyes were wet from the rain and tears, they shone.

"What ... what happened?" Heahmund asked softly; his eyes wandered around briefly, exploring the area, but he could not see anyone. And although it wasn't the smartest idea to stand here in the middle of the courtyard, Heahmund couldn't help it. His thumb locked on Ivar’s cheekbone and Ivar sobbed.

What it triggered in Heahmund, he could not even grasp in a thought ...

“I… Heahmund, I have to get out of here. I cannot betray my people by..."

"By what?"

And there it was again, the little canine tooth that slipped over Ivar’s full lower lip, that conjured Heahmund a smile into the corners of his mouth - it was just this small, delicious movement that triggered a wave of warmth in Heahmund. Ivar’s fingers grabbed Heahmund harder, and although his face looked terribly pale, the blue eyes said otherwise.

"I think I ... - I-" Ivar gasped, and Heahmund put more pressure on his thumb; he snorted slightly. The rain was now so heavy that it penetrated through the leather.

"So, either you say it now or I have to force you to." Heahmund said softly, and finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ivar smiled and even let out a slight laugh. It was just like Heahmund thought: this boy had two faces.

"I think I love you."

Silence, only the rustling of rain surrounded the two, and two pairs of blue eyes stared at each other, unfathomable and incomprehensible deep.

Heahmund could neither think nor feel anything at that moment. These were words that he had never even dreamed of and that he had not even dared to think of. And now here he was, shivering with Ivar in the heavy rain, hearing those warm words that had appeared as suddenly as the pagans themselves.

Heahmund’s thumb stiffened on Ivar’s cheek, and a hot tear ran down on it, moistening the skin. Ivar’s lips parted gently, and when another tear threatened to run out of the corner of his eyes, Heahmund covered Ivar’s entire face with his hands, and with one sleek and soft movement he pulled the young heathen into a deep, wet kiss.

It was a heartbeat long before he realized what was happening here. All he felt in those moments was the cool wetness of Ivar’s lips, the rain pouring down on both of them and the breathing of his counterpart that rose rapidly as Heahmund deepened the kiss.

The interplay of wetness and coolness was so intoxicating that Heahmund only let go of Ivar after what felt like an eternity. The boy let out a gentle gasp, and Heahmund kissed him again on the forehead before saying softly, “We have to get out of here. Nobody should see us."

"But where?"

"Follow me, I know where."

He helped Ivar with the mud until they came to a covered walkway that was a little off the beaten track; it led into the private wing of the castle and was almost never visited at this time. Heahmund was patient with Ivar and walked side by side with him until he held the big oak door open for him. The corridor was silent, and only the gentle drip from their armor indicated that someone was there.

Ivar looked around in amazement, and after studying the beautifully painted ceiling for a few moments, his gaze fell on Heahmund.

"Where are we?" he asked, and Heahmund smiled slightly.

“This section is not visited very often, and you look half frozen. I thought it was a good place to warm up. "

Ivar hesitated, but then followed Heahmund as he kept looking around and marveling at the artwork. After a while they came to the door Heahmund had been looking for; he opened it and held it open to Ivar; the heathen pulled himself in and gave a slight snort when he saw where they were.

"Are you serious? Heahmund, that's ..." The canines showed up when he smiled, and Heahmund ran a hand over Ivar’s shoulder, caught the boy's gaze.

“It's the best way to get warm. Can you swim?”, he asked, and his gaze wandered over to the wonderful, steaming pool of water. The kings held their chats here from time to time, but most of the time it was unused and also served the staff of the church to relax. The water was always warm, but Heahmund caught Ivar’s tense gaze.

With a soft movement he lifted Ivar’s chin up, and the still slightly reddened eyes looked at him questioningly, paired with a little fear and concern.

“Don't be afraid, little one. I'll help you."

"I-"

"Shht. Trust me."

And he did so, albeit with a closing of his eyes and a gentle nod, and Heahmund noticed that Ivar swallowed hard.

He helped Ivar as best he could. Undressing was the least of the problem, as was removing the greaves, even if Ivar’s cheeks turned red when Heahmund put his hand on the many braces. It was still an extremely intimate moment for both of them, and Heahmund did his best to give Ivar some of his inner calm.

Ivar was sitting at the edge of the pool, with crimson cheeks and his legs were already dangling in the water, when Heahmund slowly went into the warm pool and swam towards Ivar. The heathen watched Heahmund closely, and when Heahmund put his arms next to Ivar, he looked at him in fear.

“Just slide into the water. I will hold you tight. You can also sit back in the water, they have built-in elevation. Come on over."

Ivar hesitated. With disgruntled eyes he looked at the water in front of him, and in his eyes the sheer panic was reflected. He winced when Heahmund put his hand on his waist and pulled the boy's body closer.

"Come on. Everything is good."

It took a few more breaths until Ivar really dared himself - but then he pushed himself off the edge with his upper arms, tensed his muscular torso and let himself down gently into the warm water.

Heahmund caught him, cupped his waist and immediately noticed the violent trembling of the young body, but he pretended not to notice and drifted gently away with Ivar.

Ivar’s body relaxed a bit after a while; Heahmund didn't let go of him, and anyway Ivar was clutching so tightly on him it almost hurt. It was definitely the fear of drowning, Heahmund could feel it. But he couldn't waste a second letting go of the heathen for a moment.

The warmth of the water was like a blessing and it relaxed Heahmund’s muscles deeply. They drifted for a while until Heahmund took Ivar to the raised elevation where they could settle.

And although Ivar could feel the ground again, his body sat so close to Heahmund’s that they constantly touched. The friction of the skin under the water was perfect.

"It really is the best way to get warm." Ivar whispered after a while. They looked at each other for a while - then Heahmund’s hand slid to Ivar’s cheek.

"There are also other things that can be done well in this water ..." And although Heahmund did not express his heated thoughts, he immediately saw from Ivar’s fiery eyes that the heathen had understood perfectly.

Ivar’s hands slid greedily around Heahmund’s shoulders, and their lips found each other as quickly as if they had never been apart. Their tongues found each other almost hungry, thrusting intensely against each other and exchanging kisses so heated and eager that Heahmund didn’t wait long before he pushed himself between Ivar’s legs by placing himself in front of the elevation and thus had a wonderful leeway. He was able to pull Ivar’s hips towards him through the water without any effort, while Ivar was able to support himself with his elbows on the rise and support Heahmund’s rough grip with a bittersweet moan.

A fire rushed through Heahmund's veins as he pressed his stiff cock against Ivar's opening, felt the young heathen’s wet hole throbbing with pleasure, and it was like magic, like _witchcraft_ , as he sank back into that sweet body who leaned towards him with relish... took up every thrust, welcomed every movement.

It was his body, his curse, _Ivar was his_ , branded and yet connected by so much fire and passion.

They were so busy with each other, so absorbed in their wild games and the vigorous search for the climax of their bodies, that they didn’t notice the quiet visitor at the entrance to the door.

Because through a small crack, hidden by the shadows of the dark weather, Alfred stood with crimson cheeks in front of the door and watched the two of them.

The young christian could not hide a gulp from the picture that presented itself here: it was not the first time that he had seen the two of them, and each time a heavy curiosity mixed with violent disgust overcame him. Here he was, his teacher in Christian doctrine and bishop of their church, a _holy man_ , deeply connected in lovemaking with a pagan, the enemy of their house. Alfred couldn't describe what the sight triggered in him - on the one hand it was pure shock at so much fornication, so much blasphemy and irrationality in times of war, and he was deeply shocked by bishop Heahmund’s betrayal of the church.

And yet - on the other hand, there was a hidden part in Alfred who could understand. He wasn't stupid; he knew many kinds of love and had read many forbidden books, secretly at night in his room. And what he saw here - he cast another shy look at the hot bath, in which Ivar was now clawing more than hard on Heahmund's back and seemed so close to an orgasm, while Heahmund thrusted into him so wild as if his life was depending on it - this made him think.

Was this the kind of forbidden love that many people had died in the flames because of? Because other people didn't accept it?

Alfred, trembling violently, pushed a strand of his long, dark hair behind his ear, and he dared another look, exhaling softly, trembling with curiosity.

"God forgive me, but I love you, Ivar ..."

A groan of lust from the heathen, and with his mouth slightly open Alfred saw how Ivar spurted violently into the water that only very lightly covered his belly, while his body shook in the massive spasm of an orgasm.


	9. ~~~ BlindingLights~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are again and further it goes! :) I can only thank you all deeply for all the comments, kudos and subscriptions! <3 I enjoy it so much every time! I hope you enjoy the new chapter because I can tell you - the time of serenity will not last forever! ;) <3 Have a great rest of the day!

_"Being open to the life of others is a great gift, my son."_

_Heahmund stared at the wonderfully soft outlines of his mother with blinking eyes; she was sitting by the fire and was just about to gather a few herbs into a small bouquet. When she caught the look in Heahmund’s eyes, she smiled softly._

_“Father taught me that it only matters if it's Christians. And that those who are without faith end up in hell anyway,” Heahmund replied softly; he felt a soft shade of red settle on his cheeks, and even if he knew that his mother was never angry with him, she got up and walked slowly towards him. She wore a white dress that was slightly blinding in the sunlight; the fabric fell very softly around her knees as she knelt in front of him._

_“My dear darling, not everything that is taught to you is also immediately true. There are so many people and so many beliefs - what if we are all the same after death?” she whispered; her eyes glanced over Heahmund’s face and the boy had to smile._

_"And God forgives everyone, doesn't he?" he asked._

_“Oh yes, he does. And other things like life and love. Never forget that, my darling, a life without love is only half a life. "_

_She smiled, and her dark brown hair shimmered slightly red in the light of the bright sun. And when Heahmund looked at her, the light blinded him so much it stung his eyes. Warmth flooded him, infinite warmth._

_"Never forget that…"_

With a slight cry, Heahmund sat bolt upright. He was breathing heavily, and despite the lack of a shirt, his body was sweaty and heated, and his heart was racing. There was still a blinding light in his eyes that he believed he had long since forgotten: his mother's sweet dazzling.

It had been years since the last time he had dreamed so intensely about her. He had absolutely loved this woman, as much as a son could only love his mother - but she, like him, had only been a victim of his strict and devout father. She hadn't grown very old, and yet she had left a deep, indelible mark on Heahmund. Unlike his father, she had never been completely addicted to the Church, and Heahmund was sure that if he only had been raised by her, he would not have become a bishop, perhaps even just a mercenary or a peasant.

With a slight groan, Heahmund propped himself up and held his left forearm into the moonlight. It was still there - a deep scar graced his forearm, a cross branded by his angry and domineering father when he had disobeyed when he was young. Heahmund gently traced the softly knotted, thick scar, which was still associated with so much pain that he really needed a few moments to fight the dark feelings in his body. Harsh teaching, violence and coldness - such had been his life before he broke away from his father and joined the Church. And now, when his faith was again put to the test, it burned again - and suddenly he was dreaming of his mother again.

With a sigh Heahmund ran his hand through his sweaty face and lay back on the soft bed. But instead of closing his eyes, he just stared at the ceiling. A dreadful feeling pounded inside him - he didn't want to be alone. The memories burned terribly, and his body screamed for closeness, for a soft touch, for eyes that would never give him away - because they might even have gone through something similar to his.

For a moment Heahmund lay there undecided; but then he pushed himself up from the bed and pulled on a pair of pants. He skipped the top because he was still too warm, and the memory was still throbbing too much in his body.

When he threw open the door, however, he was violently shocked; he almost gave a scream, because with one hand raised, almost as if he had wanted to knock, an equally shocked Ivar stood there in front of his door.

The heathen stared at him in shock for a moment, then he gave a crooked grin.

"I wanted to see you," he uttered, and Heahmund grabbed his upper arm and pulled him in, not without staring into the hall again to see if no one had seen them.

"How did you get here?" he hissed; his gaze went up and down at Ivar, who was leaning on his crutch and eying Heahmund as well. Ivar was wearing his splints again, but in contrast to this heavy clothing he was wearing a very light shirt that was a little open so that the structures of his tattoos peeked out.

"Well, you can do a lot of things with a knife.", Ivar said, amused, and let his little blade turn in his hand. “Picking locks, among other things, my good Christian.” He was clever, Heahmund had to admit; when he took a step towards the young pagan, the latter stopped turning the knife and looked up at the Christian, fascinated. His gaze couldn't help but briefly wander over the well-trained chest, which was still glistening slightly with sweat.

"Pick locks? And I thought your father had a key... "

“Oh, he has. Eckbert gave him one."

"What?" Heahmund said; Ivar raised his eyebrows in amusement and returned Heahmund’s gaze with a soft grin; his sharp canine teeth showed, even if they were very soft above the lips.

"It was a gift because my father was worried about me," Ivar replied; the deep blue eyes still lingered on Heahmund’s face, and Heahmund avoided his gaze for the first time.

"You slept badly, didn't you?" Ivar said gently; he put the little knife in his breast pocket and hobbled a step towards Heahmund; Heahmund just looked at him but didn't answer. His forearm burned, and it was precisely this arm that Heahmund now slowly lifted and let it slide against Ivar’s cheek.

Ivar wasn't stupid; with his clear eyes he stared at Heahmund for a few seconds. Only then did his gaze wander down to Heahmund, and head straight for the branded forearm; his lips parted a little when he saw the slightly rosy cross. Blood had pumped into the scar, driven by Heahmund’s memories. Ivar stared up at Heahmund again with one swift movement, then at the arm again, and with one smooth movement he leaned a crutch away, nudged it gently against the table, and cupped Heahmund’s forearm. It was like a shock, like a cold lightning bolt, when Ivar’s fingers gently closed on the battered flesh.

"That's a very old scar, isn't it?" Ivar whispered; his eyes were literally glued to Heahmund’s skin, and Heahmund felt how immensely his heartbeat increased. That must be something like the feeling Ivar had had to feel when Heahmund had first touched his legs. It was an intimate moment and he could barely express what it made him feel. Far from all feelings, it was strange to show a stranger the most intimate of all scars, a scar full of anger and hatred and disdained love. What an irony, Heahmund thought, and he opened his mouth to answer Ivar with a low croak.

"Very old. And it-"

"- it hurts when you dream, doesn't it? Hm ... I know that feeling.", the heathen mumbled softly; his fingers ran slowly and gently over the contours of the scar, and Heahmund got violent tingling goose bumps. Something in his stomach was contracting, in a very subtle way.

Ivar did not escape this emotion in Heahmund; with a gentle look he turned to Heahmund’s face, even if his fingers were still stroking the contours of the scar, gently teasing them.

Heahmund gave a little twitch, but still looked down at Ivar and met the boy's gaze.

“My legs also have a lot of stories to tell. Stories of pain, stories of suffering. They were constantly broken as a child. My siblings never or very rarely took me with them to play with them... I was always so angry. I remember it very clearly... One scar of mine is a very special one. I got it one winter when my thigh bone broke. The bone came out of the skin and I screamed terribly. It is still very sensitive today..."

While Ivar was still speaking, Heahmund had come very close to him; the moonlight shimmered softly in Ivar’s dark hair, and Heahmund raised an arm to gently stroke his hand through it. The hair was soft and just a little braided. He felt the gaze of deep blue eyes on him and lifted Ivar’s chin to look at him even better.

“We all have our scars. And without them we wouldn't be the people we are today.” Heahmund whispered; he saw Ivar let out a soft snort, but he didn't look away. His eyes narrowed only slightly as he let out softly:

“That's why I gave you a scar, Heahmund. So that you’ll remember me."

A lukewarm, firm silence spread between the two of them before Ivar pulled Heahmund’s head down with a soft movement and kissed the tall Christian breathlessly. They exchanged a few warm, hungry kisses, before Heahmund grabbed a violent lust and he picked Ivar up without another word. He needed some strength to lift the young heathen, but the latter willingly let his crutches fall, which fell with some clatter against the table, and clenched heavily on Heahmund's body while he searched for Heahmund's lips over and over again, gently bit and panted.

A tremor went through the young body as Heahmund pressed him onto the bed; it was a satisfaction to finally have the boy in his own bed. He would be able to sleep divinely in the smell, he already knew that before he roughly took off Ivar’s light shirt, not even paying attention to the fact that it tore easily under his rough grip. Ivar groaned as Heahmund’s arms closed around him like a cage, enclosing him in warm skin and rough lust.

But before Ivar got too used to this position, Heahmund interrupted the hard kisses and pushed Ivar’s hands away from his shoulders.

For a moment Ivar's eyes narrowed and he was about to drop a few rebellious words, when Heahmund suddenly grabbed him so tightly that he couldn't breathe - and he rolled Ivar onto his stomach so quickly that he could not defend himself. He just let out a gasp and snorted gently.

"Heahmund..." escaped him, but Heahmund pressed his upper body onto the soft bed. Ivar’s body got goose bumps.

"What are you going to do, Heahmund ...?"

"Today is your lucky day," Heahmund said roughly, and began to open Ivar’s splints and braces as quickly as he could; it was far less troublesome than the last time, and he saw Ivar’s crimson head as Heahmund took off his pants too. The lean and scarred legs looked soft and wonderfully gnarled like an ancient tree in the moonlight; and it didn't soften Heahmund’s crude lust in the least. He gave Ivar another slight pressure on his upper body so that the boy stayed lying down, before he bent down at the base of Ivar’s boney knees. The boy shuddered and let out a violent hiss.

"Heahmund, dare you ...!" He growled, but Heahmund's hands found their way by themselves. With a powerful, yet cautious movement, he pushed Ivar's legs a little apart, and the blood pounded like a wild stream in his veins, as he glanced briefly at Ivar's plump buttocks in the moonlight, before he bent his head down with a soft grin and kissed the outside of Ivar's knee, soft and warm.

A gasp filled the nightly silence - Ivar’s body tensed violently, and Heahmund felt his back arch slightly.

The skin under his lips and tongue was warm and as soft as silk, and it was easy for Heahmund to gain access to Ivar’s inner thighs with a few movements. And with a few light kisses he quickly found what he was looking for - the scar Ivar had spoken of. In the moonlight he couldn't see it exactly, but it must have been associated with an incredible pain; Heahmund saw the exit of the bone, a small bulge of the scar that pulled inward; and there was a long crack there, chiseled into the soft skin like a picture of pain. And yet - Heahmund hesitated a moment, licked his lips before he pressed his head closer to this place with a very gentle movement, which was not that far from Ivar's most intimate place, from which Heahmund could feel it already pulsing and heat ejected.

Ivar gasped and his body twisted, trembling under Heahmund's weight.

"You don't really want ...?" Ivar uttered, and with precisely these whimpering words Heahmund bent his mouth over the defining scar and kissed it.

Ivar’s body tensed immensely, and a choked sound came from his throat; Heahmund had to swallow, because he could feel his cock pressing so hard against his pants that it hurt. But he had to drive this boy to the edge of madness.

With a shallow movement, he ran his tongue along the rough bulges of the scar, teasing it, stimulating it. His tongue slid confidently over his skin, while the young Viking under him tensed and relaxed his body again and again, and Heahmund could feel how excited Ivar was. Even his most intimate part moved, contracted when Heahmund kept sliding gently over the scar again and again, and there was so much feeling, so much sensation that Heahmund could no longer control his own heat.

His tongue found the way that led further up, further against the heat, and although Ivar propped himself up on his elbows and let out a bittersweet, violent whimper, Heahmund did not stop. And it wasn't two breaths away before he ran his warm tongue gently over Ivar’s most intimate place and gently circled his hole, while his hands spread him a little.

It was an ordeal for Heahmund to hear Ivar’s choked groan, to feel the muscles under his tongue move, wanting more, taking him in. Heahmund took his time, agonizingly time, and repeatedly penetrated Ivar gently with his tongue, sometimes even sticking in a finger, then two, and Ivar’s lower body began to wriggle violently. He must have a plump cock, Heahmund knew it exactly - and it burned in his cock, too. His tongue licked a little higher, licking the shaking way up until he reached Ivar’s shoulders, which radiated immense heat. His body lay over Ivar’s, and his hard cock, still wrapped in his pants, pushed hard between Ivar’s legs.

Ivar whimpered, hunched his back against Heahmund’s upper body, swallowed and shivered.

Heahmund leaned over Ivar’s neck as he opened his own pants and bit the boy firmly in the side of his ear, in the middle of the cartilage.

“I said, today is your lucky day, Ivar. Do you know why?” Heahmund gasped roughly in Ivar’s ear; the boy moaned, clutching the blanket beneath him. When Heahmund made another move, he groaned.

"Tell me..." he uttered completely breathless, and Heahmund's mouth slid to Ivar's neck, bit into it. Only then did he push down the last millimeters of his pants, still pressed against Ivar’s back, and pressed his mouth to Ivar’s ear.

“Today you will come twice. I will fuck you so hard that you’ll no longer know which god you actually worship ..."

"Ah, Heahmund ..." was the only thing Ivar managed to say before Heahmund’s hard cock pushed itself between his buttocks and immediately found the pulsating and still wet hole. He didn't need to be careful; after the first few centimeters, Heahmund noticed that Ivar’s body welcomed him with benevolence, and his back arched while Heahmund let out a groan as he had completely sunk into Ivar.

He didn't give the little one a second to rest. With a rough movement he propped himself up on his hands and immediately began to thrust into Ivar’s body with a merciless rhythm.

It was so incredibly good to sink into this body, not to feel anything but the warm walls that enclosed his cock with a hot tightness; he was harsh, but Ivar seemed to take every thrust, no matter how hard and deep it was. This position made Heahmund feel more and more that he was going much deeper than last time, and he thrust harder while his lover's back kept stretching towards him.

“Oh my… Heahmund, damn it, yes! Harder…fuck me harder…" Ivar’s voice was rough and longing, and Heahmund only spurred it on. His senses were clouded, and _by God_ , he was going to drive this boy into madness.

"You're mine, say it ..." he whispered wildly, and thrusted harder, deeper than before. Ivar let out a violent whimper; and something contracted inside him, Heahmund felt it exactly. Maybe this was the right place ...

Heahmund thrusted further at the same angle, using his hard strength to push his cock as deep as possible into Ivar; and the young heathen clung tighter to the bed below, gasping for breath.

Heahmund grabbed Ivar by the neck with a rough grip; the boy gasped, groaned, and Heahmund squeezed hard.

"Say it!" He groaned, and Ivar bucked slightly.

"I'm yours, you damned Christian ...Fuck me further like this and you will become _godless_..." Ivar pressed out, and Heahmund pushed his head down a little further, thrusting deeper, harder.

"I _am_ your _God_."

A choked groan, and Heahmund felt Ivar’s entrance shudder and twitch, contracting slightly; the rubbing of his cock on the bed and Heahmund’s deep thrusts had to stimulate him so much that he almost came.

"Heahmund, I..." Ivar whimpered, and his shoulders tensed. His body reared up.

Heahmund let himself down a little but did not let up with the thrusts; his body felt like it was on drugs.

“ _Cum_ , little one. Do it.” And those harsh words from Heahmund worked like a wave; Ivar squeezed his eyes shut and his fingers turned white, he was clawing so hard on the bed - and with a few more thrusts, his insides contracted and he came with a choked gasp.

For Heahmund it was a severe test of patience, because his cock almost seemed to explode when Ivar’s entrance tightened and pulsed around his plump cock again and again; Ivar’s penis had to pulsate just as violently under his stomach, because the little one gasped for air.

Heahmund bit his lower lip and pulled himself together; his body was so close to a massive orgasm, but he wanted to keep his promise. He only missed two thrusts in which Ivar’s orgasm was still raging; only then did he pick up speed again and hold Ivar's neck firmly on the bed.

He wanted to have this young heathen to himself, forever mark him as his. There was nothing in his head and body but rough and wild lust, as raw as his lust for fighting. And his cock continued to penetrate Ivar, even when he came down very gently from his orgasm; and yet a trace remained, a goose bump that Heahmund noticed precisely.

"Are you ready?" He gasped while pressing closer to Ivar’s upper body; the boy just whimpered, still exhausted from his first orgasm, and Heahmund got an idea.

With his right hand he slid to Ivar’s thigh, cupped it and angled him a little more; then he pushed in sideways at a new angle. And it worked wonders.

At first Ivar made no sound at all; the body was hot, flushed, and Heahmund’s hard grip imprinted the back of his neck. But after a while, as Heahmund kept pounding in this angle, Ivar suddenly let out such a goose-bumps-raising, choked, deep throaty murmur that Heahmund felt a shot of pleasure in his testicles.

"What’s that ..." Ivar groaned completely breathless, and Heahmund grunted slightly. His body trembled with adrenaline and lust, and he thrusted harder, deeper, juicier.

"Let it happen, Ivar ... let it happen ..." he whispered to the young heathen, who groped blindly for something to hold on to because his hands were sweating so much. Heahmund had now lowered down close on him, and his face was hidden against Ivar’s hot neck. He wanted to own this boy, he wanted it so badly ...

And Ivar allowed it. His body seemed to welcome Heahmund’s cock even more deeply, and with a few mighty, powerful thrusts the boy began to shake so violently that Heahmund had to push him onto the bed with his free hand.

"I'm cuming ..." Ivar pressed out before he came a second time, breathless and under Heahmund’s heated body. Heahmund used the tremors and contractions of Ivar’s body to climax himself - it didn't take long. His cock had been close to erupting for a while, and with a raw moan he bit the back of Ivar's neck, bit the boy so hard that the latter let out a hiss, and spurted inside him so hard and mercilessly that he thought he was about to faint.

His cock pulsed longer than usual and also seemed to squirt out the last, pent-up residue of sperm, deep inside Ivar’s body, which was still fighting hard under the second orgasm, cramped, sweated. Heahmund only loosened his hard bite on the back of Ivar’s neck when he felt his own orgasm ebb away slightly. His body lay on Ivar full of exhaustion; only now did he realize how exhausting it had been, how much this struggle not to come too early had pulled on him.

With a breathless movement Heahmund kissed the bite on Ivar’s neck; it literally glowed, and when Heahmund closed his eyes for a moment and pressed himself gently on Ivar’s neck, the smell clouded him so tightly as if his heart would never stop beating again violently in his chest. Like a curse, like a beat with only one name on it: _Ivar_.

Ivar moved slightly; his body looked so sweaty and exhausted that Heahmund rolled down a little and pressed Ivar’s body close to his side. They were silent for a while; only their breathing could be heard, and outside the wind rattling the windows.

Wrapped in warmth and the breathtaking scent of Ivar’s proximity, Heahmund almost nodded away when Ivar’s hoarse voice came out softly.

"Do you think that we will never see each other again after death?" These were cautious words, and yet Heahmund felt Ivar’s body got goose bumps. So, he pulled the young pagan close to him, put an arm around his body and gently rested his head on Ivar’s shoulder, while the pagan gave him a soft look. There was a trace of sadness in it, and Heahmund wondered what had started that thought.

“I don't know, Ivar. We don't believe in the same thing, so it can be. Unfortunately, there is no place in heaven for wild unbelievers."

Ivar bit his lip and smiled slightly; he turned slightly to Heahmund, his hair still wild and sweaty. His eyes shone.

“Who says you go to heaven? Maybe - well, maybe you'll come to Valhalla after all, because your God doesn't want you like that. Because we were connected…” Ivar whispered, his lips parting slightly. Heahmund could see something of his cheeky manner, of his mocking manner; and yet the thought hurt him, in a way.

Little did he know what hurt even more - the thought of ending up in hell after a life of faith, or never seeing Ivar again. He thought for a moment; his fingers dug into Ivar’s hair, and the boy pressed closer to him, closing his eyes.

“I don't know what's going to happen. But we are not dead yet, and we will hopefully live a while longer."

Ivar sighed gently, and his fingers crept up to Heahmund’s chest, lingering over his heart.

“I saw you tonight, in my dream. You suffered, that's why I came to you ...", Ivar muttered, so sleepy that Heahmund knew he wouldn't hear his answer anyway.

But Ivar’s last words gave him such a violent shiver that even the blanket didn’t make it disappear, which he pulled above both of them, before he also closed his eyes to fall asleep with the breathtaking smell of the Viking in his nose.

-

The next morning started hectically; as they both got up long after the sun had raised, they knew they had to hurry - it was too noticeable to come out of a room together - where Ivar should have spent the night in his own room. So Heahmund stepped through the door first and peered down the hallway to make sure no one was there; as he swayed to safety, he pushed Ivar out the door, who was propping his crutches unsteadily on the floor. He still looked a little weak on his feet, but his eyes were glowing.

"Go." Heahmund hissed, albeit with a mischievous smile in the corner of his mouth; Ivar glared at him, bit his lip lightly, and stopped walking.

"Haven't you forgotten something?" He asked cheekily, and Heahmund clicked his tongue.

“Forget it, it's too dangerous here. And now, go!” He uttered, but the Viking didn't move an inch. It was only when Heahmund came up to him, not without looking back first, that he grinned broadly and lifted his chin so that Heahmund could press a very quick kiss on his lips.

When Heahmund pulled away from him and gently pushed him towards the corridor, Ivar laughed softly.

"You will still miss that, believe me, Christian!"

"Of course, Heathen."

Ivar turned away on his crutches and hobbled down the aisle, and Heahmund stared after him for a few moments. Only then did he check the fit of his belt again, pull it tighter and walk down the aisle in the opposite direction. He was sure that nothing had happened - when a low voice a few meters away almost knocked him off his feet.

Behind one of the columns in the corridor, pressed tightly into the corner, stood Alfred. The young fellow looked excited; his cheeks were reddish, blotchy, and he hissed Heahmund's name softly.

Heahmund blood drained from his veins and from his face; his legs lost all feeling, and suddenly he realized what he had been putting at stake here...

"Heahmund, come on, I have to talk to you."

Heahmund swallowed; however, he went closer to Alfred, who was looking around frantically; but there was no one here except them.

"What’s wrong?"

Alfred licked his lips and brushed his hair behind his ear, then looked at Heahmund.

“I don't even ask for it, not now. However, you have to know something - you have to be on your guard, something terrible has happened."

Heahmund drew his eyebrows together in disbelief; he stared at Alfred, who was clearly nervous, and waited.

"Something happened?"

"Yes, and I think ..."

"Heahmund!"

A rough and deep voice interrupted the two; Heahmund turned around and saw that King Aethelwulf was standing there with an extremely pale face. He looked rigid and waxen, and Heahmund felt the growing of a terrible feeling.

"Yes, my Lord?"

“I've been looking for you. Please follow me, we need to talk. Now."

Heahmund glanced at Alfred, who still looked pale and bit his lip; however, he nodded. And Heahmund turned around and followed Aethelwulf, who was taking the well-known route into the great hall.

As soon as the large swing gates were closed behind them, Aethelwulf wasted no time. Outside the wind was still rattling the windows as the king turned to face him, eyes full of fear and concern.

He swallowed, then started softly:

“The pagan army. They are coming."

And all Heahmund could feel in those moments was a painful numbness that stretched into his veins, deep into the tips of his heart.


	10. ~~~ I n s i d e T h e S o u l ~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I have to thank you guys! :) You have left so many, incredibly lovely comments - I am always so happy about every single one of them! I thank you from the bottom of my heart, really! <3 Also for all the lovely kudos and subscriptions. 
> 
> Today I would also be happy to receive feedback - because we have "new" things today. Most of the chapters were only written from Heahmund's point of view - however, based on the story, I have to allow other people's POV as well, and today it will be Ivars and a tiny bit of Ragnars. I want your opinion on it if you like it! If you don't like it, I'll have to rethink something. :D But maybe you like these little insights too! I thank you all so much and wish you a nice Sunday! :)

Heahmund stared.

All he could do in those bitter seconds after the cool voice of King Aethelwulf, was staring. He couldn't believe his ears, didn't trust what he had just heard with goosebumps. His throat was dry and cracked to the touch, and to make matters worse, all the color was fading from his face.

A heavy shiver ran down his spine, and after what felt like a numb eternity he finally blinked. His eyes burned.

"Are you - are you sure?" Heahmund asked softly, and his voice was hoarse and rasping. Nothing else wanted in his head, nothing else except the thought that Aethelwulf might have been wrong. It just had to be like that.

"Three days. They are just three days away from us. They raided a village and killed everyone in it. They are numerous, Heahmund."

"How many." Heahmund uttered dully and dryly, while his eyes fixed on the floor. Something was sore inside, pulled at his nerves.

"Thousands. We have to get our army up and running in a matter of days and we don't have time for anything else. Even my sons have to go to war, we have nothing else ..."

"What do we do with the prisoners?" Heahmund knew how impolite it was to interrupt the king at his word - but he couldn't help it. For him there was only one picture in his head at this moment: _Ivar._

Aethelwulf stared at Heahmund for a moment; when Heahmund met his gaze, the king exhaled deeply. He looked incredibly fragile in those seconds, and Heahmund could understand how that must feel. That shock. This emptiness. This certainty that in three days everything would be different ...

“I don't think they know. In order not to attract false attention, we let them believe we don't know. However, we have to take them elsewhere. To a place where they won’t notice that we build up our army…” Aethelwulf murmured, and Heahmund snorted while he slowly ran his hand through his beard.

“They will notice, but they are a wonderful lever. We shouldn't kill them yet."

The two men looked at each other; Heahmund felt his heart beating hard in his chest. It was cursed, but something was raging in him like a mad pagan, something scratched and screamed and wanted out. He knew it was wrong - but he couldn't hand Ivar over to death. No matter what danger they were in now. Even if he hated himself for this thought...

"What and how should we then ...?" uttered Aethelwulf, but Heahmund raised his head.

“Let me do it, sire. I will do everything in my power to prevent the worst from happening. I will keep an eye on them."

"How are you going to do that? Nobody can hold Ragnar Lothbrok and his son. The last day before the battle - I tell you, Heahmund, there they will disappear and only appear on the day of the battle, baring teeth and thirsting for blood on the other side. But maybe we can negotiate because we treated them well."

Heahmund snorted roughly, then leaned back against a table with a soft sigh. His back hurt.

"They won't do anything like that."

Aethelwulf was silent for a moment; he looked at Heahmund and it almost looked like he was swallowing. Then he croaked softly: "Why do you think that?"

Heahmund smiled slightly. Various images shot through his head, almost as fast as the morning light, in a flash. A pair of pointed teeth that brushed against full lips; deep blue eyes that looked like the devil in the night. Tattoos that played around a hard-trained chest. A wild moan, as wild and free as a wolf in the night, white teeth digging into his throat, begging him. _More._

"Because mercy is not in their blood, my lord."

-

He had to speak to the heathen, and there was no getting around it. But this time his feet did not carry him to Ivar’s room out of lust, but out of pure anger. Since he had left the room with King Aethelwulf, his blood boiled inside, and he felt incredibly stupid. Almost as stupid as when he first had seen a thin streak of blood on Ivar’s neck, and had been amazed that it hadn’t been as black as the night.

He clearly felt that his veins were showing on his forearms, so great was the internal tension and anger. What did he think? To be able to change the pagan just because they slept with each other? Did he seriously believe this boy was honest? That their love for one another - or whatever it was - was sincere?

_He had been a puppet, nothing more. A toy to create distraction._

Heahmund was hit by another deep wave of anger, and when he got to the room, he wasted no time. He unlocked the door as roughly as he could - and as soon as it was open, he kicked the door in, which was noticed by a faint hiss from inside the room.

Heahmund slammed the door behind him and searched the room for Ivar. He didn't have to look far; the young heathen sat on the table and looked over at Heahmund with shining eyes when he came up to him.

"Today you have a lot of ..." Ivar started with a smile, which quickly disappeared when Heahmund came up to him with an angry expression and gave him a resounding slap that was so hard that Ivar's head was light went to the side.

“WHAT DID YOU THINK OF, HM? I CAN DO IT WITH HIM?!" Heahmund yelled, and when Ivar held his cheek in shock and looked at Heahmund with wide eyes, it didn't soften Heahmund's anger in the least. Ivar swallowed; his eyes were still wide open, perplexed, and his lips parted slightly.

“Heahmund, what do you mean? What ...?” He uttered softly, and Heahmund grunted loudly.

“You are kidding me, aren't you, you useless little blasphemer? I _trusted_ you! Why the hell are you betraying my trust, huh? You played a nice game here, and I swear to God...” Heahmund had leaned close and threatening to Ivar, both arms pressed like a tense, angry cage around the young heathen, who was still rigid with shock; when Heahmund licked his lips, Ivar opened his mouth and said softly:

"I have no idea what you're talking about!" His voice hardened a little towards the end, and the shock gave way to a slight trace of anger. Heahmund could feel how Ivar’s body tensed up immensely. They stared at each other for a moment, then Ivar blindly grabbed Heahmund’s arms and roughly pushed them away. Vulnerability flickered in his eyes despite the anger, even if Heahmund tried to ignore it.

“And of course, you do know that! You and your pack of people, you have brought an army here, and us - especially _me_ , Ivar! - sold for stupid! I swear to you, I won't rest for a minute until you admit that!!"

Ivar let out a rough laugh, then bared his teeth and pushed Heahmund away again, who had come ominously closer to him again. They still stared at each other.

"I don’t know _anything_! Are you seriously thinking this about me, yes? That I am bringing an entire army here without telling you anything? I thought very bad of you, Heahmund, at the beginning. But now? You did things to me that no human was _ever_ allowed to do with me! We were close!” Ivar shouted; towards the end his voice grew louder, much louder, and there was a hint of hoarseness mixed in. When Heahmund wanted to get closer to him again, still trembling with anger, Ivar pushed him away again with a hiss. He continued. “You and I, we are connected! We are united by stories, the same suffering, the same _scars_! I have NO idea, I don't know anything! My father said NOTHING to me, and you come in here and blame me? After you just _fucked_ me yesterday?"

And then Heahmund hesitated, for the very first time. Sure, his anger was still raging, yet for the first time in his life he was really listening. He looked Ivar in the face; he saw the fine furrows on the otherwise smooth forehead, he saw the knitted eyebrows, the trace of heat and anger - and yes, he saw the pagan, bloodthirsty glint of anger in the deep ocean of those blue eyes. And yet - there was pain in it. Bitterly hidden under the dark iris and paired with the shallow trembling of his hands, Heahmund saw that despite his pride and anger, Ivar was deeply hurt. The teeth flashed in the light of the fire, and yet he could see the glitter in the eyes and the little crease at the corner of his mouth that Ivar always wore when he was sad. The same wrinkle had appeared on his face the time Heahmund had stared at his legs in wild hostility. Hidden, yet so visible. Hidden, yet so open to those who could _really_ see...

And Heahmund didn't know what to answer. He stood there, still at the distance to which Ivar had pushed him, and looked thoughtfully at the young pagan. His anger still boiled, immense, and burned a hole in his veins. However, Ivar returned his gaze so steadfastly, so honestly, in a way that Heahmund’s mind slowly cooled down a bit.

With a slight sigh, he ran his hand through his black hair and stood next to Ivar; with his lower back he leaned against the table and gently closed his eyes, while he felt the burning gaze of Ivar on him. The men did not speak for a while, until a low murmur reached Heahmund’s ear.

“Heahmund, I took so much on myself for you, I betrayed not only my people but also my father. Why should I risk this? I didn't know an army was coming. It has to be led by one of my stupid brothers. They certainly won't get along on their own."

Warmth flowed through Heahmund's arms, and the burning anger eased a little. He opened his eyes and looked at Ivar, who had leaned a little in his direction. There were still traces of pain in his blue eyes and his cheek was red and blotchy white; a handprint was indistinctly visible on it. With a gentle movement Heahmund raised his hand and gently stroked Ivar's cheek. The skin was hot, but soft as ever. With a light swallow, Ivar leaned his head against Heahmund’s hand, but didn't break eye contact.

“I'm sorry, Ivar. You are right. But we are doomed if your army shows up here. We don't have enough men to withstand the onslaught. I hardly believe that your brothers are friends of Christians."

Ivar let out a soft, warm laugh, then put a hand on Heahmund’s. The blue in the eyes sparkled again.

"No, they are not. I think I can talk to my father. He will be able to spare you... Maybe I can take you as a prisoner and take you home with me. We could be happy there.”, Ivar whispered, and Heahmund had to laugh softly. He pushed himself away from the table and pushed himself between Ivar’s legs, which pressed gently and barely noticeably against his hips, looking in vain for support, while his arms closed so naturally around Heahmund’s middle.

“So, we should move to the north together? Me as your ... as your what? Slave?"

Ivar bit his full lower lip and grabbed Heahmund’s chest with a soft movement. The slender fingers slid over the armor while the eyes fixed Heahmund’s face.

“A chain around your neck would look so good on you, my dearest Christian. I could drag you wherever I want. _Whenever_ I want it.", Ivar said with a grin, and with a slight sigh he noticed how Heahmund tilted his head to his neck and bit him tenderly. A shiver ran through Heahmund’s veins, and there was no more anger in it, just that elegant fire kindled again that Ivar kept causing in him. His fingers slipped under Ivar’s shirt, touching the bare, heated skin on his ribs.

“I think you like to dream. You know very well that I would never go along with that.” Heahmund uttered with a sweet grin against Ivar’s skin on his neck, and all the exciting waves shot into his body again, even though he had been so angry a few moments ago. He felt how Ivar’s fingers clawed lightly on his armor and how the soft skin on his neck got intoxicating goosebumps. Burning heat developed between them, as so often before, and Heahmund didn't need to think a second further before he felt his cock harden.

“You would do it for me. Because you wouldn't want to live without me.", Ivar whispered, and a raw gasp escaped him, his fingers squeezing harder as Heahmund gently pressed his teeth into Ivar’s skin, pressing his teeth into his incredibly fragrant skin. He dared another bite, felt Ivar’s hands on his neck, tugging at him, wanting his attention.

Heahmund reluctantly broke away from Ivar’s sinful skin and bowed his head to meet Ivar’s gaze. The heathen had his eyes half closed and pulled Heahmund closer to his face, letting out a soft gasp. Lust shot through Heahmund's veins, more violently than ever before.

"Kiss me," Ivar pleaded, and Heahmund grinned slightly. His hands cupped Ivar’s waist, pulled the boy directly to his lap with a firm jerk, made the boy feel, more than obvious, that he was hard. That his cock was longing for him. When Ivar felt the stiff cock through his pants between his legs, he let out a soft whimper and pressed himself tighter against his lap.

„Heahmund…“

"We’re aroused again, are we?" Heahmund breathed to him, and he felt the flickering in Ivar’s eyes, felt the slight licking of his lips. He loved it. He loved it so much...

"Please kiss me. I'm not asking you again ..." Ivar snapped, and with a rough grip Heahmund gripped Ivar’s chin sharply, looking down at the young heathen. Their eyes met, and before Ivar could utter another sullen word, Heahmund pulled him roughly to his face and kissed him so hard and urgently that Ivar felt a surge of heat rush through his entire body.

It didn't take long before they surrendered to each other again, so full of pleasure that half of their clothes were still on, but naked enough for Heahmund to conquer Ivar's body again and again, to thrust again and again into the deep warmth of his heathen while the boy clawed so hard on him it was sure to leave wild, bloody scratches on his neck.

And with every thrust and every groan Heahmund became more aware that he had fallen for this devil in person not only physically, but now also deeply in his heart. So deep that he couldn't bring himself to doubt Ivar’s sincerity for even a minute.

_Against all reason._

-

"What's that on your face?"

Harsh words tore through the air like an arrow, like the cut of an ax. Although his father was generally not always in the mood for bad words, the tone of the words now, which he hurled at him roughly as a greeting, seemed different.

Ivar couldn't help but feel a little heat of shame; he knew very well that he shouldn't even begin to lie - one could see what an imprint there was on his cheek, albeit now mildly faded and only mixed with the heat of the violent orgasm he was feeling an hour ago when Heahmund had come in him, spurting and panting, and had driven Ivar to the edge of madness with lust.

So, Ivar just bit his lip and sat down on the wooden bench in front of a table in Ragnar’s room. The light from the torches on the walls and a crackling fire in the fireplace were the only sources of light, and Ivar was almost grateful that it was no longer a day - even if he more than disliked the fact that his father had discovered Heahmund’s slap in the face immediately. His legs ached as he slowly leaned the crutches against the table and gave his father a sullen look. He didn't answer.

Ragnar looked at his son for a moment, then he sighed deeply and with a pointed movement of his lips he rubbed his long beard, which had turned very gray throughout the years.

"I forbade you to see him."

Deep blue eyes stared at him; Ivar pretended not to know what his father was talking about, even if a soft heat on his cheeks belied him. Ragnar rolled his eyes; he clicked his tongue before sitting across from Ivar.

"I didn't mean to, father," he said softly; he returned his father's stubborn gaze and crossed his arms on the table in front of him. When Ragnar said nothing more, Ivar shrugged. "When did you plan to tell me?"

Ragnar gave a crooked grin. Ivar didn't need to guess any further to find out that his father knew exactly what he was talking about - there was a winning twinkle in his blue eyes.

"It needed to be like this. I wanted to initiate you first, but then I was aware that you are currently very... well, changeable."

“Changeable?” Ivar spat, and Ragnar nodded knowingly.

“You know just like me that you have more anger and bloodthirst in you than all of your siblings put together. You are the most bloodthirsty of them all. I couldn't risk that you might let something shine through. The king shouldn't have known, just those few days before. It's going to be a massacre. This battle will still be spoken of in a hundred years." Ragnar’s words were proud, and Ivar couldn't help but briefly look at the wooden panel in front of him. He knew exactly what his father was talking about - of course he did. As a rule, his biggest grin would have appeared on his face now, and the thirst for a battle would have made his mouth watery. But something in his heart was different.

It hit hard, aching. In a horrible rhythm of foreboding.

“I am glad that the wretched Christian will be finally killed. They won't be able to withstand this force.” Ragnar said roughly, and his gaze fixed on Ivar so sharply that he felt a streak of hot red on his cheek.

What should he say to that? Ivar got goose bumps down his back, and his leg shaked hard against the emerging emotions he was trying to hide. And yet something broke open under his skin like a soft-boiled egg, bleeding down his heart.

_Heahmund. Not Heahmund!_

Ivar swallowed hard and started fumbling with his fingernails in the furrows of the table. He was terribly hot inside and felt himself getting extremely restless inside. An hour ago he had exchanged the fertile seeds of love with his warrior, and now here he was, trapped in cross-examination with his father, who was still looking at him so sharply that Ivar didn't know what to do.

"Father ..." he began, and Ragnar cracked the back of his neck. The noise went through Ivar's marrow and bone, and it made the atmosphere of the room cooler despite the fires. Ivar looked up and gazed at his father.

"Don't tell me you're addicted to him," the tall man replied, and Ivar had to fight hard against his feelings again. The last few days had been an ordeal for his soul, he had never had such torn feelings in his life.

On the one hand, there was so much betrayal, so much blood pride and honor that had been hurt; his endless nocturnal conversations with the gods. Had Odin left him? Would Valhalla remain just a dream? Several tears in the dark, hidden under the masquerade of his anger and bitterness.

And then there was _him._ _Heahmund_.

Ivar had felt very little in life except anger and bloodthirst and sadness - but this man, this great, breathtaking Christian - he had loved him from the first moment. It had been his pure appearance, his whole, pulsating aura that had struck Ivar in a heartbeat; and for nights until the first kiss he hadn't been able to admit that he had instantly fallen in love with this warrior. It had been a strange, arousing and tingling sensation, hidden deep inside. Even his otherwise numb legs had tingled, and the first kiss had almost made Ivar faint. Nervousness had mixed with lust, curiosity with love. And that love had become an unquenchable fire that drove Ivar from within.

And for the first time in his life, he had had doubt in his belief.

But he didn't tell his father any of this. He just stared back, stared into the eyes of this family celebrity, his great role model for so many years. And with the stare, his eyes began to burn. He tried to hold back the tears that had built up during the time under such pressure, but when the eye contact persisted, the first tear oozed from his eye and ran hot down his cheek.

“I don't want him to die, father. Really not. Let me take him with me, I can keep him as a slave- " Ivar whimpered, and he felt so small, so vulnerable and exposed. Like a shy deer with an arrow pointed at its body, ready to be shot.

A gasp escaped him as Ragnar began to reply, with a deep sigh.

“Ivar, my dear son. I understand that sex can be exciting. I know your brothers never really took you with them when they... but he's a Christian. Christian love is the mortal enemy of our faith, even if they are sometimes clever people. Their faith betrays us ..."

"You say this, especially _you_?" Ivar uttered in a fit of defiance; it took a few more seconds and a few more searing tears before Ivar found his voice again. “Especially _you_! You loved Athelstan, he was always by your side, he was-"

The resounding, hard slap came so suddenly that Ivar drained all air from his lungs; Ragnar had slapped him on the cheek, just as Heahmund had hit him earlier, and it burned as animally as if someone had pulled a knife through his face. His lips began to quiver, and he stared at his father through the fog of his own field of vision.

“You dare to mention Athelstan? Did I raise you so wrong? Don't ever mention him again, do you think I want you to make the same mistake as I did?"

"How can it be a mistake, _how_? When it feels so good, has felt so good to you... I saw it in your eyes, he took your soul and you could never..." Ivar broke off because his father's face almost broke his heart.

Ragnar’s features had turned from dark and predictable anger for a moment, for a tiny fragile moment, to inconceivable pain; Ivar caught his breath as he saw so much pain and sadness in the familiar eyes and couldn't help letting go of a low sob. He had never seen Ragnar like this before - not even in the worst of war. But there were only a few, flashing moments in which he let his son see this deep and indelible insight into his soul; within moments the Viking had his grip on himself again and buried his grief deep in his heart, and the eyes pushed back the mask of anger.

Ivar looked away. He could no longer look at it because he knew exactly, could feel what his father had buried and hidden there for years. What pain he was carrying, even though this Christian's death had been so long ago. Ivar knew now, with a shiver on his back, that his father had never cope with the loss of this man - but he couldn't say another word about it.

For a moment there was a deep silence between the two - and then Ragnar rose from the table. Ivar was still staring at the tabletop, trying everything to keep his rampant emotions in check, so hard that his body began to shake slightly. He wanted to get out of here. He just wanted to be in the arms of the man he already missed so badly after only an hour's absence.

“I will _personally_ kill the Christian Bishop. It's best for all of us. And above all, the best for _you_.” Ragnar's voice was rough, as rough as the sea outside the cliffs, and without another word and without responding to Ivar's quiet "Please...", the great Viking King marched out of the room and left Ivar trembling miserably.

In front of the door the great Viking took a deep breath, and only for an inexpressibly short, tiny moment did he let himself go – gave in to the feeling that his love for Athelstan was still blooming, hidden deep inside, under all the burden of the years. Under all the pain of a lonely life. What was fame worth against this feeling?

And he was shocked, so deeply shocked that Ivar was so much like him - as if cut out of the flesh, like a heart beating in the same rhythm. He could understand, and he almost gave in to the urge to go back when he heard Ivar’s sobs - but only almost.

Because with the burning in his heart and the deep, never-healed pain, he realized that it _had_ to be that way. That he wanted to spare his youngest son from this kind of love that could never be fulfilled. And what could extinguish better than death itself? Maybe Ivar, as young as he was, would be better able to deal with the pain.

And at some point, he might forget about how deep the imprint of a suitable soul could be on him.

Like the indelible mark Athelstan had left on his own soul.


	11. ~~~ D i z z y n e s s ~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A heartfelt thank you goes out to all of you - you are still here, and lovely, endless thanks to all the little hearts and all the love here! <3 My surgery was successful and was one of the reasons why I was quiet for a little longer. I hope, of course, you are well and still enjoy a new chapter! Have a wonderful weekend! <3   
> P.S.: do you start to feel the soft tingle in the air? :D

„Oh my…“

The words were harsh, sighed, drowned in a torrent of heat; Heahmund hissed softly as he touched Ivar’s skin again, bit the boy hard on the neck, while Ivar’s fingers dug into his shoulders out of sheer lust, clawed, sought a hold.

It was late in the night, and no sounds penetrated the room either from outside or inside - just pure darkness, a candle and the bittersweet moan of Ivar’s voice, which paired perfectly with Heahmund’s deep exhalation.

His cock was buried deep inside Ivar’s body - sank deeper and deeper into it, thrusting hard again and again, while the young heathen lay on his back and held Heahmund with all his might. The legs, which had always been quite useless, seemed to have gained strength in the last few days - they were slightly angled, gave Heahmund more space for deeper, more intense thrusts, and allowed Heathen and Christian to come so close together like never before.

It was an ordeal for Heahmund, a bittersweet, arousing ordeal.

They hadn't been so close since their last meeting. His tongue ran over Ivar’s heated skin again and again, absorbing every inch as hungry as a wolf. His hands held Ivar’s hips tightly on the bed, leaving the boy little room to move.

And that was what appealed to them both.

"Harder, yes ..." Ivar hissed, breathing heavily against Heahmund’s ear; the Christian groaned, reared his sweaty body up and pushed his pelvis deeper into the gentle depth of Ivar's lustful cave, which was adorably wet and softly widened by the constant penetration and exiting of Heahmund's thick shaft, which dug into his innermost.

"You’re insatiable..." Heahmund whispered to him, but Ivar only flashed his sharp teeth before he pressed his head into the pillow with another groan and closed his eyes. His neck was spotted reddish and shimmered wet in the candlelight - and Heahmund knew that he had never seen skin more perfect and beautiful than this.

Like a curse. Like magic. And how many times had he repeated these words deep in his head - they felt always new, and kept sending a soft shiver of pleasure down his spine.

Ivar’s hand suddenly clutched Heahmund’s neck tighter than usual; the Christian paused and ran his gaze over Ivar’s chest, from down the reddish-blooded nipples to the deep, shimmering blue eyes that stared at him with the most beautiful fire in the world as always. An ice-clear lake as deep as its infinite soul.

“I want to tr-ah!..try something…” Ivar groaned, and bit his lip hard as Heahmund dipped the tip of his cock gently into his entrance, let the thick glans slide gently over the muscle ring and sank deep into Ivar, once more, twice.

Fingernails scratched his shoulder blade, cracking the skin easily, and Heahmund let out a deep grunt.

"Don't you feel it?" Heahmund whispered, leaving a bite on Ivar’s trembling chin; he thrusted his cock and its swollen tip one more time tight and close into Ivar, deeper, and let him feel exactly how damn aroused he was. How much it throbbed in him to finally want to come, to give the boy all his juice, to squirt every drop hot and sweet.

Ivar gasped softly; his blue eyes wandered down to their bodies, which were definitely connected to each other - Heahmund thrusted again, letting Ivar see exactly what was going on there. The young Heathen licked his lips with relish, and he scratched Heahmund with his fingers again, but he swallowed softly.

Heahmund’s face found raw blue again.

“Help me and I'll show you that I can make you come early, too. I want your cock, Heahmund, but different this time."

Heahmund hesitated; he let the hard thrusts die away except for a little movement, felt the burning sensation on his shoulders that had been discharged from the inevitable and pleasurable scratches. He stared at Ivar for a moment, then put on a soft grin. He felt Ivar’s thumb softly and gently brushing the now quite well healed scar on his cheek - Ivar pressed it very lightly, the pressure was barely noticeable - and yet it gave Heahmund immense goose bumps.

“Whatever you want. Tell me what you need, and I'll give you everything you desire."

For a moment a soft flash went through Ivar’s face, and the heathen looked almost as devious again as he had at the beginning; but then he pushed Heahmund up with a gentle movement. The Christian helped him; only very reluctantly did he part with Ivar’s body and let his stiff cock slide out gently, albeit with a dissatisfied grunt.

_He wanted him now, and he wanted him here_. He didn't want to waste any more moments, so intense was the total lust and hunger for this unique body. He wanted to feel Ivar’s trembling orgasm, wanted to feel every muscle twitch.

However, Ivar did not let himself be disturbed, even if small lines on his forehead had indicated that he had also not wanted to part with Heahmund’s body. He had Heahmund help him into a sitting position while the Christian gently extended his arms in support. Only then did Ivar look at him, teasingly, with a big grin.

“Sit down, Heahmund. Yes, exactly like that…” he conducted; Heahmund sat upright on the mattress, his cock upright, and propped himself up with his arms backwards - but Ivar grabbed one of his arms and pulled him forward again.

"Help me on top of you. We'll just let the legs ... long back, towards your back.", Ivar said, sliding his upper body close to Heahmund. The Christian raised an eyebrow; however, when he understood what Ivar meant, he helped the boy. He gripped Ivar’s waist tightly and helped him sit on top of him, legs apart; a soft moan escaped him as Ivar’s hips slipped very close to his cock and irritated the sensitive skin even more.

Ivar took his time; he shuffled until he was satisfied - he had his long, skinny legs draped to the left and right of Heahmund's body, held onto Heahmund's strong shoulders with both hands, which trembled slightly with relaxation - and then finally looked at the great Christian.

"I'll try to use my upper body - yes? You can hold my hip as a support."

Their torsos were turned towards each other, chest to chest - and Heahmund had to swallow. It was more than exciting to have the boy so close to him from this position; he would have to bite his tongue to keep himself from biting every inch of the skin, sucking the nipples.

However, he only nodded dully in response; they looked at each other, looked deep into their eyes, as Ivar clawed his hands even tighter on Heahmund’s shoulder and lifted his body with firm pressure. He used Heahmund’s shoulders as a support so that he could push up his upper body and thus his pelvis, that Heahmund still held and helped Ivar.

It took a few moments and a little effort until Ivar’s softly widened entrance slipped comfortably and incredibly tight and hot over Heahmund’s cock again; Heahmund’s cock slowly slid deeper, even more deeper into the damp tightness, while Ivar clenched on him so tightly that there would certainly be more traces of the fingernails later.

He could feel Ivar’s trembling without having to hear the subsequent moan - even if it sounded like honey in his tingling ears. When Ivar’s body had completely settled on Heahmund’s, they remained that way for a moment; Ivar’s arms were tightly around Heahmund and he was breathing heavily as he pressed Heahmund’s head gently against his chest, locking the Christian in an incredible cloud of delicious smell; for seconds there was nothing but the two of them enjoying their bodies in this unique union. Seconds in which they were just one, together, one heart and one soul, connected by so much love. For seconds only lust, love, and for a moment of absolute peace of mind and a drop of the taste of the sweet, infinite sky. Heahmund sucked in Ivar’s scent deeply, so deep that he thought his lungs would burst - only then, after those bitter seconds of erotic sweetness, did his hands grip Ivar’s hips hard and lift the heathen a little up, then down.

His hands supported him in this movement, lifting his hips up to the tip of his cock and then lowering him back down again, down to the edge.

Ivar let out a violent, deep growl of pleasure; his fingers sank into Heahmund’s shoulders, and he felt exactly how the boy rose and fell through his own strength, deeper, with the dizzying rhythm that Heahmund had set.

It was more intense than anything before.

Heahmund felt every movement, every muscle twitch of his lover, every little tremor and heartbeat. His head was pressed tightly against Ivar’s chest, sucking in every breath of scent, and he let out such a deep moan that it gave Ivar goose bumps. It was heaven. The Christian could not think of any other words as he repeatedly felt the violent rubbing of their bodies, felt again and again how Ivar’s wet entrance closed around his cock and went up and down. Paired with muscle power, with hold, with so much strength and dedication...

Ivar clung to Heahmund’s neck, shivering, tossing his head back slightly as Heahmund bit his nipple; his moans were as intoxicating as a drug.

"Yes… _ja_! I want you to come, my great warrior… Cum for me…” Ivar whispered to Heahmund roughly; Heahmund was gripped by raw lust with these lustfully groaned words, and he gripped Ivar’s pelvis harder, literally pressed his fingers into the flesh, grunted with pleasure.

"Not before you ..." was all he could manage to say; his cock glowed, his cock was already so plump with sheer sensations that he wanted to come in Ivar immediately - but he wouldn't do the little one that favor. No way…

A twitch went through his body, however, when he felt Ivar slowly taking control; shaky, sweating, but with the greatest fighting spirit Heahmund had ever felt. The boy was incredibly strong - it seemed to be his sheer will to make Heahmund explode, his entire body was so tense. A twitch went through the muscle ring and Heahmund closed his eyes and pressed his head against the gentle hollow of Ivar’s collarbone.

_He didn't want to come first, no..._

In and out, firmer, harder, more benevolent, and Heahmund had sweat on his forehead as he struggled so hard against allowing an orgasm.

But Ivar didn't make it easy for him, by God. His arms encircled Heahmund’s upper body, drew the Christian closer into this incredible, so beloved scent, and he used all his strength to move his body up and down on Heahmund’s stiff cock, and every movement became more and more of a torture. Because the sweet, juicy soft entrance made him slowly weak...

"Come on, Heahmund... _I'm yours_ , and I want you to cum..." Ivar groaned at him, while his fingers buried themselves deep in Heahmund's black hair. Their bodies were one, one rhythm, one huge wave of pleasure, and an immense heat that lay more and more over Heahmund.

He wanted to fight back, really. But Ivar's last sentence took its toll. Heahmund’s senses clouded over, and with every ride he felt his cock swell deep inside Ivar and heading for an orgasm more and more, while the Viking above him only continued moaning, albeit trembling violently.

More and more, deeper and deeper, more and more solid.

And it took two more gentle movements over his cock, and Heahmund let out an incredibly raw moan as his cock suddenly poured into Ivar without any control. His tip pulsed and seemed to break open; so violently the orgasm shot into his limbs from one second to the next. There was hardly any air left for him to breathe; his hands clenched so tightly to Ivar's hips that the Viking let out a rough hiss before he came too - Heahmund only caught the hot surge of moisture in a dizzying mist that poured against his stomach - and he held Ivar, just held the boy tight while they both surrendered to the unbelievably wild waves of their orgasms. Ivar’s muscles pulsed so hard around Heahmund’s hard cock that it was almost unbearable; every drop was milked out by the damp walls out of Heahmund, every single splash of heat they received benevolently, in waves, so _desirable._..

The movements also became smoother and slower with the waning waves of their orgasms. Yet Heahmund felt a slight trace of excitement for a long time, a soft tingling sensation in every nerve of his body, even when Ivar stopped moving. He still held Heahmund’s body tightly, as if he was afraid to let go.

They stayed connected for quite a while and only broke away when Ivar’s trembling didn’t stop; only then did Heahmund gently lift Ivar up and placed him next to him on the matress with a shallow movement. The Viking left no gap; within seconds he pressed himself close to Heahmund’s body, clung to it. Heahmund let out a deep breath - his mouth found Ivar’s hairline and he kissed the slightly wet hair gently while inhaling the heady scent.

For a while they were silent; only when Ivar’s body got away from the tremors a little did he lift his head and looked at Heahmund, who still had reddish spots on his face from all the pleasure.

He returned the Viking’s gaze, however.

"I'm afraid of what will happen to us," Ivar said quietly; his eyebrows drew together slightly in worry, and it wasn't until Heahmund turned even more in his direction that the worry line diminished.

Heahmund smiled slightly; he lifted his hand and ran Ivar's hair softly, which was barely braided today, and yet it was pulled back a little from the wetness and exertion.

“We cannot prevent this battle, Ivar. All we can do is face it with strength." Heahmund’s words were gentle; Ivar bit his full lip gently, and his right hand buried in Heahmund’s hair.

"What if we flee?" he muttered; his blue eyes let through an exciting flicker, nearly the same when they had first kissed.

"Flee? Before the battle?"

“No, in the battle. Nobody would notice, and my fa-“ Ivar swallowed; his fingers gripped his dark hair tighter before continuing; “… - well, the others would hardly notice if we were gone. Maybe fallen, or just disappeared. Who would know? In the turmoil among thousands of warriors and fighters, it would not be noticed if we two-"

"If the two of us what?" Heahmund whispered; his heart was beating firmly and solid in his chest, and even before Ivar took a breath and answered, the Christian somehow knew what he was going to say.

“If we go away, Heahmund. Away from here. Away from it all. If we can't be happy here, then somewhere else.” Ivar uttered these words slightly hoarse, but there was a clear note of melancholy, and a certain trace of deep sadness, which he had also seen and heard when they had argued. Heahmund’s fingers ran to Ivar’s face with one flowing movement, stroking the fine scar on his cheek. Ivar got goose bumps.

"They will never accept us, will they?"

Ivar swallowed and closed his eyes tightly; he let out a short breath, then gently shook his head.

"No way. Neither in your country, nor mine. We would be hunted forever. Heahmund, I don't want to part from you. I don't want to see you fight either. I just want to go away with you ..."

"The sea," said Heahmund suddenly; his nerves trembled, and he lifted his head slightly. An excitement rushed through his limbs and Ivar looked at him curiously. The blue eyes sparkled slightly when Heahmund looked at him.

“We're going to the sea. Far away from here and we’re building us a hut. We'll just have to live simple, but at least we'll be free then. We could sneak away during the battle as soon as we face each other. Nobody would notice anything, and maybe then at least we can…” Heahmund got no further, because Ivar’s hands closed so suddenly and tightly around his face that he was interrupted; soft, full lips kissed him firmly and deeply, so soulfully that Heahmund's heart stopped for a tiny moment.

“The sea, of course. Heahmund, I think this is the best idea anyone has ever had. You're not as uptight a Christian as I always thought. I thought you'd drag me to a church."

Heahmund had to laugh slightly, but then he returned the kiss again, and again and again. There was a strange restlessness in his body, a kind of deep excitement that ran deep into his spinal cord; and every kiss still supported that wave.

And he caught himself thinking that until recently he would never have thought that he would ever consider something like this: moving to the sea with an enemy of his faith, a crippled Viking, lonely and yet together, to have a simple, but wonderful life. Far from hatred, far from the oppression of their religious communities. Far from war.

And far from their old selves - for even if the thought was crazy, crazier than anything Heahmund had ever experienced - he knew deep down that this craziness might be a chance for real happiness.

Especially when he looked into the shiny blue eyes and saw the flash of the white, sharp canine teeth that smiled almost happily at him.

Perhaps, at times, God answered prayers in a very different way than one used to believe. Maybe sometimes things had to happen that were initially unmistakably bad - in order to ultimately find something good out of them, if one just opened the eyes and soul to something new.

-

Yet an inward dizziness did not let go of the Christian through the night. He rolled around in bed for a long time, from left to right, and then on his back again - while Ivar slept calmly next to him. When Heahmund couldn't stand his inner ticking any longer, he turned on his side and stared at Ivar; he was only bathed in whitish, soft moonlight, and his features looked deeply relaxed and satisfied. The Viking was completely lost in a dream world; only now and then his lips twitched a little, only now and then his body moved very easily.

With a light exhalation, Heahmund passed Ivar's face slowly and tenderly; stroked the fine elevation of the tiny scar on his cheek, stroked the full lips, which were as sweet as no wine and no fruit in this world - and for a moment Heahmund was sure that he simply couldn't let this person go . And no matter how this battle ended - he would give anything to ensure that nothing happened to Ivar. Even if he had to pay with his life for it.

-

"Again," Heahmund uttered, and a rebellious look met him. Brown eyes lingered on him for a while, only then did the young Aethelred hurry and retrieve his sword, which Heahmund had successfully knocked out of his hand.

Two days ago he had been asked to teach the king's two young offspring in martial arts. Because time was running out. It was just another day and night, and the rumors about the Gentile Army grew louder. There were too many - and the king thought it would be wise to send his sons to war as additional motivation. They were supposed to show the soldiers that even noble blood would stand by them in the wild battle.

“You have to pay more attention to your footwork. If you focus too much on your hand, you will forget where to step. A secure footing can save your life.", Heahmund said roughly; he held the gaze of Aethelred, who only nodded slightly and brought his legs into a fixed position.

"But a good hand is also important," said the young prince, and Heahmund let out a snort.

"Yes, of course."

They fought on for a while, until Aethelred could no longer concentrate; Heahmund nodded to him and sent him away before he let his gaze wander to the other side of the room where Alfred was sitting and watching the training. Alfred was nowhere near as good as his brother; he was untrained, and his hand was not made for the heavy swords of the king. His wrists were far too weak - yet they were fine at drawing and writing, but were just as useless for a sword as they were for an ax and a bow. Still the young prince bit his lip and came closer to face Heahmund.

Heahmund didn't really look at him; he just nodded, and after a couple of aimed movements, the prince's sword fell to the ground with a loud clang, while Heahmund uttered a deep "Again!"

Alfred really did his best - Heahmund knew and appreciated that. However, the prince was too weak to learn how to fight properly in such a short time. He was meant for the halls of thinkers, but not for the bloody life and death struggle.

When Alfred lost his sword for the fifth time, Heahmund turned away slightly and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Only when he heard that Alfred did not pick up the sword as usual did he turn to the little prince and looked at him.

And he was almost astonished when an open and yet so questioning gaze looked at him, clear brown eyes that seemed to stare deep into his soul. Heahmund felt uncomfortable - it almost came close to the feeling of dizziness and restlessness that he had had in his body since last night.

“Something is wrong with you, Heahmund. What is it? Are you tense about the battle?” the young Christian muttered softly; his gaze stayed on Heahmund.

Heahmund stared back for a moment, then - and he didn't even know why - he turned his body away and instead stared at the large wooden door from which Aethelred had recently stepped out. He got dizzy. And there was a strange buzzing in the ears.

There was a deep silence in the room, only interrupted by the faint rustling of a robe that gently brushed the floor. Heahmund did not answer, even when he felt that the young prince was getting closer to him.

The silence seemed to last forever before a soft voice began again, this time much closer than before.

"You love him, don't you?"

It was like a hard slap in the face; like a spasm that ran through every muscle in his body; the icy cold ran down Heahmund’s spine and extinguished all sensation in his body, and yet he could not bring himself to answer. He stood there petrified, staring at the fine, wooden nuances of the roughly carved door; his gaze wandered over the many, small details, were caught on a bunch of grapes where every single bunch had been finely carved. Like a painting in wood, hard as reality. Made for eternity.

The stony silence did not last forever; Heahmund could feel, despite his stiffness, that Alfred had come even closer to him, so that the young Christian was almost at body level with him. And when the pressure of the silence continued, he felt the incredibly soft pressure of a small hand on his shoulder.

Only when he felt this soft pressure did Heahmund turn around slowly; painfully slow, as if his limbs were too heavy, as if his armor was suddenly weighing much more than before.

And he stared into the brown eyes that looked at him so honestly, so kindly that he knew that his answer could be read in his eyes anyway. That one could read every cursed word in it, see and guess every movement. A shiver ran down his spine when Alfred looked at him so honestly.

“Sometimes no answer is the most honest answer one can give, my good Heahmund. I'm not judging you for it, oh no. But I see your suffering and I see your love. Maybe much longer and earlier than you would have liked. And yet - maybe you two just came together on this earth at the wrong time. Maybe this is not your final destination yet.”, The boy's words were honest, sincere, and they gave Heahmund another shiver.

He kept looking at the bright young Christian, and he had to gather a lot of strength before he could begin a rasping answer.

"You will become a great king one day, Alfred."

The young man smiled, and a shimmer of soft red crept over his usually pale cheeks. Heahmund returned that smile easily - for he was far too shocked at what this boy knew, what he could figure out - and how honest he was with this burden.

Heahmund knew full well that earlier he would have deeply cursed his own body and soul for these wrongdoings - that he would have blamed himself for the failure of his faith and never allowed anyone else to see his shame.

But his body reacted differently. As if by themselves, the hands went up and rested on Alfred’s shoulders, patting gently. It was a strange, yet profound moment that crept deep into Heahmund’s soul.

And yet the strange feeling of dizziness, the strange, unusual tingling in the neck remained, even when he was on the way to Ivar again. It also stayed when Ivar wrapped his strong arms around him, kissed him like never before - it stayed when Ivar's fingers hit his neck violently, pulled him closer, and this feeling was only covered and enveloped by the goose bumps that dragged over his entire body when Ivar breathed a soft, almost whimpering "I love you" into his ear while Heahmund bit his larynx.

The dizziness always stayed with him from that moment, stuck like a tick in the dark forest.


	12. ~~~T h e S h o r t n e s s O f A M o m e n t ~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good evening everyone, and further we go! :)  
> I'm a little nervous, what about you? :D I hope you enjoy the new chapter! And as always, many thanks to all of you for your kind words and kudos, subscriptions, bookmarks ... Thank you very much! <3 Have a nice evening and a wonderful start to the weekend!

The last night before the battle was strangely rough and dark, and as Heahmund walked down the dimly lit hallway to the kitchen to get some more water, he could hear a violent storm approaching. He paused for a moment - listened to the rain pounding on the windows and listened to the thunder slowly but surely making its way towards them; until he just shook his head and continued to go down the empty and silent corridor.

He was upset, dull, and despite several attempts, he had simply not been able to fall asleep. He had tossed around and turned blindly, but there was only one name and thought to be found in his head: _Ivar._

The thought of not being able to find the little one on the battlefield tomorrow bothered him more than he'd ever thought. Every time it sent a sheer shiver of fear down his spine, made him cold when he even thought of how it could be not to find Ivar in time, or even to lose him... He had to use all his inner strength to hastily put aside the fear of loss. There was no place for fear right now. Fear was challenging and fear was provocative.

_Pull yourself together, Heahmund. This is not your first battle and it will not be your last. Everything will be fine._

He closed his eyes for a moment and let the distant rumble of thunder sink in - when a strange but familiar grinding noise tore him from his thoughts.

Heahmund opened his eyes with a soft gasp and was almost startled when suddenly an incredibly pale Ivar stood in front of him, with his shirt half open and completely out of breath. The two looked at each other for a moment - until Ivar suddenly let out a low whimper. He looked terribly excited, but in a somehow negative way. Heahmund didn't know him like that and was about to say something when Ivar grabbed his forearm hard.

"Come on, we have to talk," the Viking uttered softly; the arm with which he held Heahmund trembled. He hastily pulled the big Christian into one of the dark and hidden corners in the hallway, not without looking around the hallway again to see if anyone had seen and followed them. But when this wasn't the case, he drew Heahmund close, his big blue eyes fixed on him like sapphires.

Heahmund looked down at Ivar, felt the tension, and raised an arm to put his hand on the side of the young Viking's neck. Ivar swallowed hard against the touch, found Heahmund’s hand on his own neck and held it. It was a strange feeling; Heahmund could sense, deep down, that Ivar was terribly nervous. The Viking struggled with his breath before finally finding words, quietly and almost in a whisper.

“I have to go right away, Heahmund. My father suddenly came into my room and said we were going to leave immediately - because our forces are close, and we should be on the other side the next morning. I - ", Ivar swallowed hard and grabbed Heahmund’s neck with his other hand to find support; "... I'm only here because I said I still need something. I don't have a lot of time."

And although Heahmund knew, had known for days, that this was their last night anyway, these words hit him in a very strange, painful way. His heart seemed to stand still for a moment and his head burned with emotions. A variety of feelings pelted him within seconds - from disbelief, to deep pain, to fear. He felt hatred for Ragnar, who parted the two too soon - he felt everything, but nothing compared to when the azure blue eyes of Ivar looked at him with so much sadness. The boy's fine eyelashes were soaked with tears, saying so much what Heahmund was thinking exactly at those moments.

It was hard, so hard, to admit that those moments in the hallway in the dark corner were their last ones before the great battle.

Heahmund raised his hand again and let it slide gently against Ivar’s tearful cheek; he enjoyed the feel of his fingertips on this soft, smooth skin, enjoyed the smell of Ivar, which misted him completely and which he inhaled so deeply that it almost hurt his lungs. Heahmund pressed his forehead against Ivar’s with a gentle movement - they pressed their heads against each other, enjoyed the closeness, the breathtaking proximity of the other. It was like a sweet curse when Ivar opened his mouth and let out with a soft breath: "Why don't you say anything?"

A slight grin crossed Heahmund’s lips and he pressed the scar on Ivar’s cheek tighter with his thumb - it now seemed like a gift, much too late recognized, that he had the same scar. That Ivar had simply picked up the knife back then and marked him as his equal. It was an indescribably strange feeling to suddenly see this gesture so clearly, to finally understand what the boy had meant with it. So early in the beginning. He felt the pressure of Ivar’s hand on his neck more clearly, felt the heated fingertips gently pressing into his skin.

“I know it will be difficult. But we can do it, Ivar. We'll get it done! All we have to think about is that we absolutely have to meet in the field tomorrow. Before something bad happens.”, Heahmund mumbled softly; he could feel how Ivar’s fingers tightened slightly, but then the beloved canine pushed over his full lower lip, and Ivar let out a low, melodic laugh that was accompanied by half a sob.

Heahmund had never experienced a moment like this - it gave him goose bumps to feel so much closeness. So much of that adorable closeness, even closer than their wildest and deepest bond in bed.

“Just do me a favor and try to avoid my father.”, Ivar said with a crooked grin, and Heahmund snorted slightly.

"And what if not? You know that I can fight very well. But if it's that important to you, of course I'll do it. You just make sure you keep your pretty head."

Ivar grinned broadly; and although a tear or two still ran down his cheek, he gave Heahmund a light nudge in the chest.

"Hey, you already know who you're standing with, don't you? Ivar the Boneless isn't that easy to kill. Some even say that I’m immortal.", Ivar uttered with a slight murmur, and although Heahmund loved this unbelievable stubbornness and selfishness about him - oh yes, he _loved_ it - it hurt him.

"Of course. How could I forget that?”, Heahmund replied; he felt how Ivar’s fingers pulled from the side of his neck to the back of it. With a soft movement the heathen pulled the great Christian closer to him and pressed his wonderfully soft lips on Heahmund’s. Heahmund caught his breath for a moment; he returned the kiss harder, deepening it with gentle and passionate movements that he knew were driving Ivar crazy. And he was right: after a few seconds of these intense kisses, Ivar's hands clung tighter to the back of his neck, and when he pulled away he let out a soft, barely audible moan; so quiet that it felt like a touch of goose bumps on Heahmund’s body.

"I don't want to lose you, Heahmund." Ivar uttered these words with a certain pressure, almost insistently, while the blue eyes turned back to Heahmund full of longing. The Christian smiled slightly; he pulled Ivar into another breathless kiss before saying softly, “You won't lose me. We'll both go and we'll build our own life. Trust me. We will be together."

Ivar smiled slightly as another tear ran down his cheek.

“So how do we do it? Let's say we find ourselves in the fray. What are we going to do? I mean, it won't be easy to squeeze through the battle. If one of my brothers sees us, they will try to kill you.”, Ivar said softly; his hands slid from Heahmund’s neck down to his chest, pressed softly against it. As if he was trying to get as close as possible, and Heahmund easily returned the pressure.

“It's going to be a problem, I know. But it's not impossible. We stay close together, pushing our way through the crowds as best we can. In the battle it will hardly be noticed if we run away one by one. Besides-” Heahmund nodded slightly towards the window, where the rain was still beating hard on the window; “…There will also be bad weather. If the rain continues, it will be fine. Trust me. We find a way. I will pray to God that he will make it happen."

Ivar snorted slightly; he had still turned his gaze to the window, watching the thick drops on the pane. For a brief moment he just stared out and bit his lower lip gently; only when Heahmund slipped his finger gently under the heathen’s chin did the deep blue eyes return to Heahmund.

“We will need more than a simple prayer, Heahmund. But don't worry, I know that it will work somehow. Sometimes you need more than one god to help you achieve what you want."

Heahmund drew his eyebrows slightly together; his gaze stayed on Ivar, and the finger under his chin lifted it further so Heahmund could better read the glow in Ivar’s eyes.

“It almost sounds like you've put an emergency plan in place. But we won't need that. If I say that we will be together, we will.”, Heahmund whispered towards him, and Ivar snorted slightly again. After a while, however, after looking at Heahmund for a moment, he nodded slightly.

"I know. An old habit.”, he muttered; Heahmund fixed Ivar’s chin with his fingers and pulled the boy into a deep, warm kiss. They kissed intensely, pressed their lips tightly together, hardly leaving any air to breathe, when a sudden, distant noise carefully tore them both out of their trance.

Heahmund looked around the corner slightly, but was pulled back by Ivar. The Viking twisted the corners of his mouth slightly, pulling them down a bit, as if suppressing another sob; only when Heahmund looked at him did the young heathen grasp his neck tightly and pulled him into a last, haunting kiss before he said softly: "I have to go now, otherwise he will notice."

Heahmund had to swallow. It had been such a short moment, too short, and he let his hand on Ivar’s shoulder - he only let go when the boy was back on his crutches and looked at Heahmund again.

His hair was already braided; the dark brown was smooth in the warm light of the scanty candles, and Heahmund prayed to God that he would have that sight burned into his head forever. Forever and ever.

Ivar put on a slight smile; Heahmund noticed that another tear ran down the boy's cheek and he looked shaky on his crutches.

"Then we'll see each other on the other side," Ivar said softly; when Heahmund furrowed his eyebrows again, he added, “On the battlefield, of course. I really have to go now. Think of the plan, will you?"

Heahmund nodded silently; deep pain seared into his body, and he suddenly felt his body develop a life of its own. He hastily took two big steps towards Ivar, roughly grabbed the boy by both sides of the face and pulled him hard into one last, almost biting kiss. He tried to put as much emotion as possible into that kiss; and he also felt how Ivar's knees went weak under this kiss, and how a small tear moistened Heahmund’s finger on the side of his cheek.

Only after this kiss did he finally let Ivar go. He stood there, strangely lost in the large stone hallway, in the middle of the night, and stared after Ivar until he disappeared around the next bend. A deep feeling of emptiness rose in him; he felt exactly how his fingertips went numb and cold, instantly missing the haunting warmth of the Viking. He could still feel the last kiss on his lips, the wonderful warmth, the incredibly sweet taste that had dug so deep into his heart...

It took quite a while, quite a bit more than a while, followed by two cups of wine, before Heahmund went back to his room and sat down on the table from where he could stare out into the night. Heavy rain was still raging outside the window, and the thunderstorm was not far away.

A strangely heavy weight settled on his limbs and seemed to drag him down into the earth for meters; those were the first moments in his life when he didn't know what to do. He was powerless - he had to have faith in Ivar, and most importantly, he had to have strong faith in himself now. There was nothing he could do about this leaden faint - nothing but wait. Waiting for the morning, waiting for the golden horn that would give the final impetus to the battle. Hope, believe, love.

For the first time in life he couldn't influence, regulate, or fight for something. He had to be quiet, waiting, hoping.

For a brief moment he closed his eyes; a booming rumble wandered around the lock, lighting up the room for a moment with a flash of lightning. Heahmund got goose bumps all over his body, and when he opened his eyes again, he saw the remaining, bright flash of lightning disappear in the room.

_Oh Lord, I have rarely asked you for anything as intensely as I do now. Please, let us be together and make the plan a reality. Protect Ivar too, and don't leave him alone in these dark hours. Please, help me._

He folded his hands and thought firmly of these words, speaking them directly to God, to whom he had not prayed to in a long time. But an unrecognizable beating in his heart told him that God was listening to him.

It was not without reason that God had sent this person into his life. He firmly believed in it; and yet he couldn't sleep that night.

-

The next morning started rough and abrupt.

When Heahmund had put on his armor and knotted his sword in his belt, walking down the long corridor to the courtyard - he felt the excited tingling in his neck, the calm before the storm of battle.

Like many others, he stepped into the inner courtyard, in which many soldiers had already gathered; their armor was partly slightly wet, soaked from the light rain and the heavy fog that had covered the castle like a thick cloud. Heahmund wandered his eyes over the force; there were many old men, and many young men. Everything they could get, and if the king even sent his sons into battle, it was more than serious.

“Bishop Heahmund. There you are... are you ready?“, a firm voice asked from the side - it was King Aethelwulf. Heahmund put on a short smile and checked the straps of his saddle, which was already on his horse.

"As ready as one can be on a morning like this," he replied; he sensed the king getting closer, and from _how_ close he got, Heahmund could sense that he wanted to tell him something important.

Aethelwulf looked around; only then did he lean over to Heahmund.

"Ragnar Lothbrok, he..."

"He's gone, isn't he?" Heahmund finished for his king; Aethelwulf stared at him, then nodded slightly.

Heahmund bit his lip briefly and pulled the saddle tighter; then he turned to the king.

“It was clear from the start that this would happen. But he will reappear on the other side, alongside the other barbarians. Better for us that they are there instead of here. His sons would have overrun us."

“Maybe we should have killed them. Did he take the cripple with him?"

Heahmund paused for a moment. He tried to keep his sudden, violent emotions in check - tried _not_ to slap the king in the face, and tried to look like as if it was the most normal thing in the world for someone to call Ivar a cripple. He had to pull himself together before he replied quietly:

“That wouldn't have prevented the battle, it was planned anyway. And yes, he took... his son with him. I haven't seen him anymore."

Heahmund made a brief, faint bow before turning and pulling himself onto his horse with one strong movement. The stallion was restless; Heahmund patted him gently on the neck, but he could feel that the animal was inevitably different from usual. Strange, Heahmund thought. _Like he knows what I'm feeling._

But there was hardly any time. He pushed his stallion on with his lower legs and began to ride through the ranks of the soldiers to clarify some things or to encourage them. Shortly before setting out, he saw from a distance how Alfred and his brother got on their horses - Alfred looked incredibly pale. And Heahmund knew why: the boy was simply not made for battles. Especially not for such a battle where one had to fight barbarians.

The whole army set off only a few moments later, out into the incredibly thick fog that ran through the entire area and made even the distant forests invisible to their eyes. They rode north, toward a large field where the heathens had last been sighted, tonight by scouts.

It was still early, the darkness had not yet completely disappeared; yet Heahmund could literally taste the excitement and thrill in the air as they rode closer and closer to the battlefield. It was a terribly oppressive feeling to know that he was going into a battle that was different from any battles before - one that was somehow fused with love, and the constant thought that he might not see Ivar again tore Heahmund apart at the coarsest. Outwardly, he looked like always; the strong warrior of God, who rode with his great sword like God's angel personally and led them strong - but inwardly, inwardly Heahmund cried. He couldn't bear the pressure of his own thoughts and found himself again and again in a slight dizziness that just wouldn't go away.

No. The dizziness was almost passed out by the time they reached the vast field where the battle was to take place. Heahmund knew it, but the fog still hung in light swaths on the woods and made a clear view almost impossible.

But through the fog, a little further away, they could _hear_ them.

The pagan army. And they had to be incredibly numerous. Heahmund stopped his stallion and stared at the vast field in front of him. The fog would evaporate in a few moments as daylight broke through the thick clouds so slowly.

"With God's help, we will level these heathens to the ground," said King Aethelwulf next to him; Heahmund just raised an eyebrow, continued to stare at the field. He could hear the king's sons breathing beside him, it was still so quiet around the scene.

Only when the first rays of sun hit through the thick blanket of fog and slowly tore up the fog, after a while, one could see over the mighty field. Heahmund felt a shiver and bit his lip hard.

With the disappearance of the fog came sight; and it struck Heahmund almost like a blow, like a violent blow to the chest, when he saw the greatness of the heathen army for the first time.

There were just too many. Masses of people moved across the field, far back, and although Heahmund had already fought such battles, this mighty force tore a hole in his heart.

_How in God's name would he ever find Ivar?_

Goosebumps crept down his neck when he felt King Aethelwulf gasping for air beside him. The sons also gave a slight gasp, and Heahmund looked over at the king. He was still staring at the field with his mouth open; until he caught Heahmund’s gaze and nodded to him.

Heahmund let out a deep breath, then turned to the soldiers.

“We're here today because God doesn't want these barbarians to take our land. He is with us, my brothers, and he will keep an eye on each of you! Don't be afraid of the size of the other army - we still have the home advantage. Fight for God, fight for your wives and children! May God hold his protecting hand over England today!”, he roared, and the soldiers uttered their battle cries.

Heahmund placed himself at the head of the troops again, and with slightly trembling hands drew his sword from its sheath. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes for a moment that seemed to be slower than anything else around him, slower than time itself.

Soft, tender images shot through his head; the last few days with Ivar. The feeling of the soft skin next to him, underneath him, the feeling of the beating heart under Heahmund’s touch. The soft smile whenever Heahmund had looked at him.

With light pressure, the scar on his face tickled, as if his body knew exactly what was going on inside him - and who he was thinking of in those seconds. And to whom he would dedicate his life from now on. That wonderful scar he wore out of love for a very special person, from whom only a few thousand pagan heads separated him.

With a slight gasp, Heahmund opened his eyes again; the pagan army was already on its way to them. He took a last deep breath - felt the strong body of his horse underneath him - until he raised his sword, staring at the sky, and kicked off the battle.


	13. ~~~T h e B a t t l e~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay.
> 
> First of all, I know. It was somehow leaving a strange feeling to upload this chapter, as it was hard for me, too. :( Battles are never easy! But I felt like I needed to write it now, and that's why it came so fast after the other one. I hope you "enjoy" this chapter! Have a wonderful sunday! <3
> 
> And thank you so so so much for all the love you give me here. It's incredible, and I feel so thankful for y'all still following this story. And remember: not everything is lost by now! ;) <3

One never got used to it.

One never got used to the first, sudden wave of a fight when it rained down blindly and furiously on one, and took ones breath away in the first few seconds, squeezed all air out of ones lungs and left one blind for a few seconds.

But this first wave was different.

Heahmund was used to jumping with his stallion over the first ring of the attackers and cutting off the heads of the opponents directly - his battle cry was still from his heart today, but the first jump against the hard wall of the shields of the heathens went terribly wrong .

It was the first time Heahmund’s stallion had been slashed by a sword while jumping; it spun while leaping, gave a terrible neighing, split by deep pain, and with one hard blow it threw Heahmund straight to the ground. The Christian fell hard on his back in spite of the soggy ground; for a few seconds it tore all air out of his lungs and hurt terribly, but Heahmund was on his feet again within two breaths, took his sword in his hand and struck the first heathen with a gaping crack in the chest. He was dead instantly.

The second blow followed immediately, for Heahmund had no time to orient himself or to see where his people were; it was simply a flood of pagans that overran them beyond measure.

With a clever turn, Heahmund was able to repel two more attackers; the ground made it difficult to stand securely, but he quickly noticed that there were also many inexperienced opponents - similar to those on their side. In the tumult of screaming, blood and dirt flying around, he saw extremely young faces, not yet reached manhood, and extremely old faces with the horror of war marked on their faces.

But there was no time to think about whether this was a good or a bad sign - the thought of finding Ivar as soon as possible drove him too much. Even though, after three more attacks, he realized that it was going to be damn hard to find anyone in the wild battle at all.

He had lost sight of King Aethelwulf and his sons right away.

Another blow to the side of a neck, another stroke to a chest, and Heahmund could clearly feel his body begin to warm inside. He had barely two seconds to look around properly - opponents kept running into him, roaring, challenging him, fighting him hard. But Heahmund knew what he could do and trusted his years of experience in combat.

Still, there was a constant tingling in his neck.

All he wanted was to find Ivar as soon as possible. He couldn't take the thought any longer, and with the scale of the battle he was afraid - yes, for the first time in his life he was _afraid_ \- that Ivar would not make it. Did he have special protection? Was he walking on his crutches? Was he with his brothers?

All those questions were shooting back and forth in Heahmund’s head, between blood and severed limbs. With a powerful hit he was fending off an ax that had recently tried to dig into his shoulder; the man who led them was a huge fellow who grunted tightly when Heahmund fought him off.

The big guy kept pounding, walking step by step towards Heahmund with no sign of fear, slamming his ax so brutally that Heahmund had to lunge heavily to keep his own head from being cut off.

"Dirty Christian!", the man roared, and Heahmund felt a light wound from an incredibly fast blow to his arm - he hissed briefly, but then swung his sword with all his might and quickly rammed it into the side of his opponent, accompanied by a mighty battle cry.

However, the man did not fall directly. Heahmund had to dodge his ax twice before he broke the guy's nose with a rough kick in the face and stabbed the neck with a second blow with his sword. The blood spurted so high that it splashed on Heahmund’s face. He spat on the heathen, a mixture of spit and blood, and cursed softly: "Take this from your dirty Christian."

There was no time for recovery. Although Heahmund was completely out of breath, two opponents rushed towards him again and tried to kill him from both sides. It took Heahmund a while to fend them off - but in the end one was missing an arm and the other had lost his head in the dirty ground. The smell of death and fear was everywhere - drifting like a thick cloud of mist over the field, which now more than ever looked like a terrible place. Blood and dirt everywhere, screaming, and severed limbs. Heahmund felt in a frenzy how a man with two severed arms ran around screaming while the stump of his arm spattered blood on everything that came near him.

Heahmund let out a deep breath; his chest expanded extremely, pressing against the dirty armor, and he ran a hand through his face and hair, wiping away a little of the splattered blood.

He was just about to run into a ball of pagans and Christians, who were fighting bitterly when one face suddenly stared at him from the crowd of warriors and came up to him. With slow, precise steps, the lust for battle burned into blue eyes, armed with an ax and a sword.

For a moment his limbs became rigid and icy cold - Heahmund followed this man with his gaze, watched as if he was petrified as he came step by step out of the raging crowd and never let his eyes off of him - it was Ragnar Lothbrok.

The famous Viking king did not have a smile on his face; his face was just as dirty and bloody as Heahmund’s, and the closer he got, the higher he lifted his ax. He pushed his way through the crowd with ease, and - for whatever reason, Heahmund couldn't explain it - there was no one to attack him. And so, it did not take long before this legendary man stood before him with his weapons drawn.

They looked at each other for a moment, only disturbed by the splashing dirt that was flying around - and for a moment, nothing happened.

There was much in this man's eyes, much that Heahmund could read from it. He had never expected to run into his lover's father - but fate had found it right. An icy shudder ran down Heahmund's spine, and he had to struggle very hard against his emerging feelings.

Sure, he hated Ragnar - he hated him, to hell with him! But this man was still Ivar's father, and Heahmund knew that Ivar adored him. And that's why a solid basic question arose with the shiver on his back: What should he do now?

Ragnar rocked his head briefly left and right, cracking the bones in the neck slightly; the blue eyes did not let go of Heahmund. Until he lifted his chin and whispered with a slight nod: "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time, Christian."

Heahmund swallowed again and gripped the hilt of his sword tighter; he felt his knuckles turn white, but he tried to hide his inner turmoil cleverly. But like his son's eyes, the blue of Ragnar’s eyes seemed to be able to stare just as deeply into his soul. He opened his mouth and then closed it again - what did one say at such a moment?

Ragnar continued to stare at him, skillfully twisting his ax in his hand, beginning to pace lightly up and down, like a lion ready to attack.

"Do what you have to do. I didn't do anything wrong.”, Heahmund croaked roughly; his voice was hoarse from all the shouting and the roar of battle. He returned the stubborn gaze of the Viking King, who now drew the corners of his mouth down and spat on the ground in front of his feet.

“You did to my son what he never deserved. For that I'll kill you.”, Ragnar whispered darkly, and Heahmund snorted slightly. He tried as inconspicuously as possible to strengthen his position in the ground.

“What did he never deserve? I haven't done anything wrong. I did not cause him any harm. He was with me voluntarily every time, as I was with him."

Ragnar’s features continued to darken; he wrinkled his nose and spat on the ground again. His grip on the ax tightened. “You forced your cursed Christian love on him. You emasculated him. My son! A mighty Viking!”, the voice of the King of the heathens grew so loud that it gave Heahmund a harsh shudder; he could clearly see Ragnar getting closer, the footsteps tightening.

Heahmund snorted deeply again and then did something that he did not really think about: it was as if someone else, deep inside him, was determining and deciding for him. Because with a powerful and sudden movement, Heahmund threw his big and heavy sword at the ground in front of his own feet. It landed softly in the mud, and Heahmund met the Viking's fiery gaze again. Anger rushed through his body.

“I didn't emasculate him or anything else! I gave him love, that's all! And if you condemn love, then come here and judge over me!!", Heahmund roared in his scratchy voice as loud as he could. Something tingled on the back of his neck, but he was not deterred. His gaze remained fixed on the great Viking, who had only lost his composure for a tiny moment when Heahmund had dropped his sword.

Ragnar bared his teeth and let out an angry roar – then he ran towards Heahmund. He stopped shortly before, just a few inches away. Heahmund closed his eyes and exhaled deeply - if this was to be the end of him, then it would be, but he would not kill the father of his big love. He was unable to do that. It would weigh on his conscience forever.

Heahmund felt the ax breeze, felt exactly how the edge would thunder down on his neck - until a sudden outcry made the ax stop.

"Father, NO!"

An incredibly violent feeling rushed through Heahmund’s body with such brute force that he almost lost consciousness - as if by a miracle, it was the voice of Ivar that had risen through the crowd. And miraculously had stopped that ax at his neck.

With a slight gasp, Heahmund opened his eyes. The ax lingered on his neck, a hair's breadth away from his skin. He could see the Viking's angry eyes on him, staring back into that terribly aroused blue as a familiar shuffle pressed closer to them. A crutch that has been dragged through mud. And a wonderful smell that suddenly appeared next to him.

More than a mighty stone fell from his heart, when he saw from the corner of his eyes that Ivar reared up in front of his father, having his throwing knives and an ax in his hands, completely stained with dark blood. His face was dirty and covered with dark blood - but two small streaks of bare skin indicated that a few tears had run down from Ivar's eyes. He gave his father a push, although he couldn't be pushed away easily.

“Father, don't do this to me! Don't kill him. Please!”, Ivar pleaded; his voice was as hoarse as Heahmund's, and Ragnar let out a deep snort.

"I told you that I would kill him, I _swore_ it to you that I would kill this Christian _with my own hands_!", the king hissed at his son; Ivar was about to reply when Ragnar suddenly shoved him aside with a swift movement. The young heathen lost his balance and fell - and while he tried to get himself back on his crutch quickly, Ragnar was faster.

He raised the ax again, but this time Heahmund didn't close his eyes. He only caught the shouting of Ivar, who tried miserably to pull himself up; all he did was stare Ragnar Lothbrok straight in the eyes. He didn't evade; even if Ragnar's eyes spoke with such brute anger.

The ax was raised again in the air; Heahmund prayed that at least Ivar wouldn't die, prayed for the boy, and kept a close eye on the Viking king. He snapped the ax back onto Heahmund’s neck.

But just before it hit, just so shortly before it, the ax suddenly stopped again. Sheer anger was reflected in the famous man's eyes, but something had changed. Heahmund could feel it in his goosebumps that something deep was going on in the man. What it was - he didn't know. But the ax didn't hit his neck. It paused a little longer just close to his skin, and he saw the slight beginning of the tremor that went through Ragnar's arms; until he suddenly and slowly lowered the ax.

With a slight gasp, Heahmund let out a deep breath; Ragnar was still looking at him, anger still looming, so immense that Heahmund couldn't put it into words. But the most famous of all Vikings just snorted and then turned around on his feet.

He disappeared into the fray of battle, and his scream of anger could still be heard far away - followed by the disgusting sound of skulls breaking. Only now did the complete adrenaline seize Heahmund’s body and flow all over his limbs, so powerfully that it started tingling wildly - as if he had been frozen before.

When a low whimper sounded next to him, he turned his gaze back to Ivar, who was now leaning a little further away against his crutch, his mouth slightly open. He looked at Heahmund with wide eyes before he started to speak with his softly parted lips.

“Why the hell did you throw away your sword? Are you completely stupid?”, he croaked, and Heahmund had to smile slightly despite all the circumstances they were in. What had just happened here? Had fate decided for them? Had God been watching over them?

An inevitable feeling of warmth and joy slipped through his entire body, and he lifted his sword from the ground with one movement. He wanted to go over to Ivar, but the time of danger was not over yet. They didn't want to be exposed, but Heahmund was just too grateful in those seconds. Grateful for finding Ivar - or rather, for Ivar finding him. Grateful that something in Ragnar had brought mercy. That something had been watching over them all here. Had not destroyed the delicate alliance between father and son.

“I couldn't fight him. You know exactly why.”, Heahmund replied hoarsely and gave Ivar a slight smile; he could see exactly how a little redness appeared on Ivar’s cheeks under the dirt and blood, although the young heathen just snorted.

“Because you're an idiot, that's why. You Christians are really crazy."

"We? So, my father just didn't want to chop off your head.“, Heahmund grinned; he held his sword tighter again, searched for Ivar’s gaze.

They looked at each other briefly, sank into their own world for a moment - the battle around them was completely faded out for a short moment. Heahmund felt unbelievable warmth and love flowing through his body when he saw how Ivar’s mouth rolled up and gave him such a beautiful smile that it almost felt as if Heahmund was falling in love with him a second time. Plunge into heaven a second time - and he was sure, he had made the right decision with this young pagan. That this person was worth every fight, every worry - that he was just the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. That he would like to hike to the end of the country with, only to see Ivar’s face next to him again and again every morning.

_He had finally found his home after so many years._

But all of a sudden - and without any warning - the bitter and extremely painful reality hit.

Heahmund didn't even feel it at first. He was still absorbed in Ivar’s face, full of happiness that they would finally make it, when Ivar’s face twisted into a terrible grimace of pain and shock from one second to the next. It was only because his lover's features were changing so violently that it occurred to Heahmund that something was wrong.

And it was.

The pain came so suddenly and unexpectedly that he didn't even have the time to take a deep breath - and he couldn't either. Because when he turned his eyes down on his own body, he saw with horror that a long, blood-drenched sword was sticking out of his stomach.

Drilled through the back from behind, it had just pierced his body, like soft flesh. He tried to gasp for air in panic, but the pain tightened and pressed his lungs so hard that he could only gasp miserably. His mouth was full of warm blood in seconds. It was everywhere. It ran down his stomach, ran out of his mouth, and he felt the warmth run down his legs himself. The dizziness was so severe that he was not sure whether he was still standing or already lying down; everything, really everything turned.

He heard nothing more, nothing but the rush of his own blood in his ears; shortly afterwards he tasted dirt and mud through the blood, and then he knew that he was already on the ground. The dizziness robbed him of all vision, but he couldn't close his eyes. He managed to take just one tiny breath, one single one more - and with that, Ivar shot through his head. Until the world around him – and his world - was simply wiped out.

-

Pain.

More than a burning pain pierced Ivar’s body as he watched helplessly as the person he loved over all fell lifeless and bleeding into the mud of battle. It was only seconds, but those seconds felt like a terrible eternity to Ivar. Everything in his body went numb, his arms, his chest, leaving him with nothing but cold.

His gaze went from his beloved Heahmund to the man who still held the bleeding sword in his hand.

He grinned broadly at Ivar - it was one of his own warriors. And Ivar? Ivar was seized by sheer anger, all of a sudden. With a grim cry, he threw his ax directly into the man's face with a precise, violent force - he fell over immediately. But that wasn't enough for Ivar...

His crutch didn't get stuck in the mud as Ivar worked his way up to the man with a maddened frenzy and finally dropped down beside him; he propped himself up on the ground with one arm, and grabbed the ax with the other and pulled it out of his face. He paused for a moment, staring at the wide and deep cut on this face; then the mad rage grabbed him again, and with a powerful and deep, very deep scream he hit the man's face again and again with full force, and again and again he rammed the ax full of hatred and anger and frenzy into the already destroyed face. Again, and again new bones broke until there was only bloody pulp - the face was no longer a face, just a pile of flesh and blood. The splash of blood had speckled Ivar’s entire face, some of the warm blood had even fallen into his mouth, but he didn’t care.

With a mighty scream he struck the ax one last time in the ruined face, before leaving it stuck in it. He took a deep breath, took a lung full of cold air, and spat hard into the disfigured face of the man, who had been older than he was.

And only then, only after this fit of anger and hatred, did reality hit him with full force.

With a soft whimper, he gripped his crutch and dragged it through the dirt, but he didn't use it. He just pulled it behind him, pulled it over with him to Heahmund's body, which was still lying there unchanged; Ivar braced himself firmly on the ground so that he could move quickly.

And when he sat down next to Heahmund’s body, exactly on the side where his face was turned, everything suddenly pounded on him, like a heavy rain that appeared at night during the worst thunderstorms.

Words could not describe what an incredible emptiness he felt in those moments, how much it hurt to see the man lying lifeless next to him, whom he really loved with all his heart. It was like _no_ pain in the world. Broken bones, the laughter of his brothers, the pain of being alone, all of his life - none of this was enough, not even in the beginning, for the infinite numbness that overtook Ivar at these moments. He felt exactly how his tears ran silently down his cheeks, as silent as the sorrow he felt in those moments.

They had been so close to the goal. So close to it, and even outlived his father. _So close_ to sneaking away happily, and yet fate had struck cold. Ivar opened his lips, very soft and gentle, and ran his dirty fingers over Heahmund’s cheek. It was already a little cooled; dirt and blood clung to it, almost hiding the beautiful scar Ivar had given him. In a mist of tears, Ivar leaned over, very slightly, and kissed the scar, accompanied by an infinitely deep sob. "I love you so much, Heahmund…"

He'd forgotten the fray about the battle, and didn't really care. What use was it to defend himself now? He had nothing left, _nothing_ in this world that would hold him. So, he didn't even notice how a slight shadow turned past them.

Only when he sensed someone else was close, did Ivar raise his head and looked up; he could see that young Alfred was standing a few meters away, pale as a corpse, staring down at them. Not a word had passed his lips, and Ivar stared back for a moment - before blindly groping for his crutch.

It took Ivar an eternity, sobbing, to hoist himself onto the crutch. His clothes were caked with dirt and blood, and yet he didn't mind. With the last of his strength he pulled himself up the last millimeters of his crutch before casting his veiled gaze at Alfred, who was standing directly across from him with his sword in hand.

The young prince looked completely helpless and overwhelmed, and the sword was far too big for him. Its point touched the ground, probably because the young Christian couldn't always hold it up.

For half an eternity they stood in the midst of the turmoil and rage of the great, dirty battle, just looking at each other. Ivar could sense that Alfred wasn't made for a place like this; however, his gaze remained on the brown eyes, which fixed him as much as he fixed Alfred.

Ivar could read fear, fear and pain, combined with pure shock. He gave a slight whimper; the crutch trembled in his hands.

"Please." Ivar said, softly and in pain.

Men on either side ran back and forth, and the deaths rose on both sides. Alfred turned his gaze to those around him, saw the many dead, the many, painfully contorted faces that had died for nothing and nothing again - he looked at the half-dismembered body behind Ivar, the crippled face with an ax still stuck in it; then his gaze wandered over to the dead Heahmund.

Ivar sobbed violently; he could read in Alfred’s eyes how much the loss of this great warrior hurt him too. He could see exactly how the delicate eyebrows contracted in shock, staring inexplicably at the otherwise strong body - which had gone into battle so alive this morning.

Only after a while did Alfred’s gaze find Ivar’s again. The Viking was trembling all over, and the traces of his tears were clearly visible. With a soft whimper, Ivar opened his mouth again, this time speaking a little louder. Begging. Supplicating.

“Please, Alfred. You promised me."

Alfred swallowed, and Ivar could see that he himself had to fight back the tears, that the young prince must certainly have to fight himself inside too - for what Ivar was asking was not easy. It was as great as the burden of the future throne that would be upon the boy; terribly huge.

But Ivar couldn't help it. He uttered another shivering " _Please_..." deep from his soul, deep from his heart.

Alfred opened his mouth slightly, and with his pale, still free hand he clasped the sword twofold to have more grip - when he finally raised it slowly, very slowly and shakily.


	14. ~~~ T h e M e a n i n g O f F r e e d o m ~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I have to say - a little bit of my heart died while writing this, I don't know. This story is my baby - and I hope that I won't break your hearts. BUT - We're not finished by now, and we still have one chapter to go. :)  
> I love you guys so much for your incredible support! <3 Thank you so so much! Grab a tea, or a drink, and hopefully enjoy your saturday evening! <3

_In the shadow of the candles and the warm fireplace that flickered softly and crackly in one corner, Ivar was barely visible. He also avoided being seen too early - from an early age he had loved hanging around in the shadows, quietly, barely visible, and simply watching the people he was sneaking up on. Because people have never been more natural to themselves than when they were all alone and assumed that no one was lurking silently in the corner and staring at them._

_In spite of the late hour, the young Prince Alfred had leaned over a table. In his pale hands he held a thin quill, and a slightly curled sheet of paper was spread out in front of him. With a gentle movement Ivar crept closer; he saw exactly how Alfred drew his eyebrows together and had the paper in front of him exactly in view - concentrated on what he was putting on the sheet with the fine black ink. It was so quiet in the room, so damned quiet, that one could hear the fine point of the pen scratching over the paper._

_For a moment Ivar stared at the prince - it was strange to pay Alfred a visit at this late hour - but it had to be done. A small lump formed in Ivar’s throat, deep under his larynx; it was the same burning sensation in his limbs that he had felt for several days. A wild feeling, paralyzing in a way, accompanied by incredible pain. And there was nothing he could do about it. The pain was permanently etched into his bones._

_When Alfred suddenly let out a soft sigh, as if he had made a mistake - he wrinkled his nose slightly and furrowed his eyebrows, but didn't curse - Ivar decided it was time to step out of the shadows._

_"Good evening, Prince Alfred," he said with a low whisper and now pushed himself a little more noisily into the warm light source of the fireplace._

_Alfred was so frightened that he almost knocked over the golden glass with the black ink; he really winced and for a moment looked like he had seen someone dead; his paleness had grown enormously, but when the young prince realized that it was Ivar who was slowly pulling himself to the free side of the table, he exhaled with relief. He pushed the brown strands behind his ear and looked reproachfully at Ivar._

_“Good evening, Ivar, and please be kind enough to knock next time. I was really scared.", Alfred said in a soft voice; he pointed to the vacant chair opposite the table; Ivar just shook his head and put on a slight grin._

_"What does the honor of the late visit get me?", the young Christian added, and Ivar propped himself up on his crutch. He was right across from Alfred; the prince sat down again because he had got up a little in shock, but Ivar remained standing. The two looked at each other for a moment; the brown eyes still looked slightly shocked, but Ivar saw the same warmth and kindness in them as always._

_"How is it, with you Christians...", Ivar muttered, rolling one shoulder; it hurt terribly because he had rested on it last night; "...when you die? What do you think is happening then?"_

_For a brief moment Alfred looked so perplexed that he didn't answer at first; he opened his slightly rosy mouth, but then closed it again. His eyes narrowed a little and he frowned slightly._

_"I beg your pardon, but… So, do you mean that ... seriously?"_

_Ivar gave a small laugh; he really liked Alfred very much. The young prince had none of the harshness and narrow-mindedness of his relatives, and one could always count on him to take one seriously. They knew each other, they had often played chess together._

_"Yes, of course. So, tell me about your believe. And what happens after death."_

_Alfred frowned again, then leaned back gently in his chair. The fire crackled softly in the background as the Christian began to speak slowly._

_“We believe that after death, we will go to paradise. That God receives us, and we will then live in eternity and in goodness. In harmony. The worldly sufferings are taken away from you, and you meet again the people who are already waiting there for you."_

_Ivar swallowed lightly; a soft, barely noticeable goose bumps spread over his back, and despite the pain, the slight, paralyzing feeling set in again; Ivar felt his heart beating against a half-numbed chest. Paralyzed with grief. He fixed his gaze briefly on the fire in the fireplace; only after biting his lip did he return Alfred’s gaze._

_“And… can everyone go to this paradise? And what kind of place is that?”, he asked softly; Alfred smiled slightly, then leaned a little more over the table. His brown eyes looked trustworthy and warm._

_“Many believe it is heaven, and so it is said in the Bible. But it doesn't say what the sky looks like. And above all, not what heaven in itself means for each and every one of us. Personally, well... I believe that heaven is exactly where our hearts are at home. Where the people we love live and there, we will meet them again. Whenever our time comes. I know exactly when my day... well, when my day comes, I'll see my father again. My... real one, you know...", the prince mumbled slightly blushed towards the end, and Ivar nodded understandingly._

_It was an incredibly strange feeling to be here with Alfred and discuss these things; it was a completely surreal experience, in a way that Ivar could never have imagined. He had hardly imagined anything that had happened lately anyway... His pointy canine slid over his full lower lip again, and he knew it was coming - his throat was getting thicker again, filling gently with the lump, and he had to swallow. A rustle of clothing indicated that Alfred was moving. He'd been dreading this question for days because he knew, just knew, that it was coming._

_And indeed, Alfred’s lips parted, and he uttered a soft "Why are you asking all this, Ivar?"_

_The question that added to the tingling of the numbness - and it took Ivar a moment, a tiny moment to himself. His eyes fixed in the direction of the log fire, and he stared into it for so long that it almost hurt. He could clearly feel that Alfred was looking at him slightly worried, and he knew that he could not delay this moment any longer._

_He swallowed hard again, trying to ignore the damp stinging in his eyes; he didn't want to feel it. Not here, not now. Not yet._

_“I've known for a very long time that you know it. With Heahmund and me, you've known since the day I gave Heahmund the scar. I've seen it in your eyes, and I've noticed many times that you overheard us… I'm not angry with you about it,” he said softly, as he felt Alfred’s cheeks turned into a dark shade of red; the prince wanted to say something, but Ivar held up his hand._

_"But that's not why I'm here," he uttered, and he had to blink, look back into the fire, so that the numbness of his heart did not seep into his eyes. He felt exactly how Alfred tensed; there was a little worry in his eyes._

_"Then why?", Alfred asked, and Ivar felt a mighty heartbeat within him, almost vibrating, painfully firm._

_Ivar stared at the ceiling for a moment, blinking away the tears that were collecting in his eyes - he had cried so often and for too long lately, although it wasn't his habit. What did it all do to him..._

_“I know we won't make it. Heahmund and I, we actually wanted to flee in battle, but... I feel, deep in my heart, that we will not make it. There are just too many warriors on both sides. It would be a miracle to get out of there safe. Heahmund firmly believes that God will fix it again, as he says, but... but my heart tells me otherwise. And that's why I'm here. There is only one way to be happy with him - and that’s in death. I don't want to be separated from him even in death, and I cannot live without him, I… ", a violent burning sensation shot through Ivar’s throat, and he had to pull himself together for a moment; his feelings boiled up. It had been more than painful to even have this thought in his head - but now, so real, uttering it... it kind of broke him inside._

_He gasped for air; he was very grateful that Alfred said no words but waited patiently for Ivar to regain control._

_“... therefore, and because I know what a stubborn head Heahmund is - he never thinks further, never - I am ready to change my faith out of love. So that at least I’m with him in death, without judgments, without hatred, without…"_

_"Enmity ..." Alfred muttered; the young prince was even paler in the face than usual, and his eyes were slightly wide. He looked at Ivar in disbelief; the brown eyes slightly shiny. "You're really serious, aren't you?"_

_Ivar snorted slightly; he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, then nodded. "Yes. I’ve thought about it for a long time. It hurts a lot to betray my own belief, but I've believed in and worshiped the gods all my life. And yet they gave me a painful life. Heahmund did better, he did everything better. I have dedicated my life to the gods - but I will dedicate my death to your faith so that I can have Heahmund with me. He wouldn't understand."_

_For a moment there was a deep but warm silence between the two; only the fire danced on the walls and crackled slightly. Alfred let out a deep breath; he was trembling slightly, but he didn't look disturbed._

_“I understand exactly what you mean, and I admire your love. May more people have as much warmth in their hearts as you, Ivar. I’m amazed at how different people can be when we meet them on a different level."_

_Ivar smiled slightly; the burning in his eyes got better and the pain got softer, too. He looked at Alfred; they had known each other for so many years, declared and equipped as enemies, and yet, here, in these moments - despite all the strangeness in them, they were friends._

_"Can you do it? This ... whatever you need for it."_

_Alfred grinned slightly. “You just need the faith, Ivar, deep in your heart. I think if you have that, then your wish will come true. Because God takes care of his children, and I know that Heahmund always included you in his prayers. If you can't do it, he'll do it."_

_The two young men smiled slightly at each other; deep inside Ivar there was a feeling of warmth and gratitude, strangely deep and soft. He had never felt such a nice feeling that Heahmund’s proximity could only top it; he adjusted his crutch and continued to look at Alfred._

_"I have to ask something more of you," he said, and Alfred bowed his head._

_"Everything you want."_

_"When the moment comes in battle and I...and Heahmund should die before me, only if it should be the case at all... then you must kill me. I can't do it myself, and with my bad luck, I would survive. You have to do it. And then - whatever your customs in belief are - bury me with him."_

_Alfred looked at Ivar for a moment with wide eyes; his gaze drifted into disbelief and he wanted to say something, but Ivar got ahead of him._

_“Please, Alfred. It's our only chance."_

_"What if your father, or your brothers..."_

_“Please."_

_The boys looked at each other; Ivar reached out a slender hand to Alfred, held it out - it trembled slightly, and when Alfred stared at the hand for a moment, he took it softly and shook it._

_"I promise it. I swear to God that I will help you."_

_Ivar smiled mildly, and his eyes shone in the glow of the fire - the two boys let go of their hands, and it felt almost as if they had made an immortal pact after a lifetime of friendship._

_-_

Ivar's words on that evening were still so deep, so damn deeply anchored in Alfred’s heart, that his knees truly went weak as he was now really and truly in battle.

The young Viking was still standing opposite him, dirty and stained with blood - but the blue eyes reflected incredible, so bitter pain that Alfred had not even imagined in his wildest nightmares. Even his spine was freezing cold when he saw Heahmund - his longstanding, good-natured teacher in so many things - lying there. Killed in battle, and it almost felt like a part of his youth was dying away with this man. He had known him for so long, and he had taught him so much...

"Please, Alfred."

Ivar’s broken voice flew over to him again, and Alfred closed his eyes for a very brief moment. His fingers gripped his sword harder, but deep inside it hurt. It would be incredibly difficult to kill this young man. Because somehow - and maybe in another world - they would definitely have become good friends.

When he opened his eyes again, a deep pain pierced his heart. It hurt him incredibly to see the young, otherwise strong Viking so _broken_. It was like a wrong world, where strength suddenly became weakness, and warmth became infinite suffering...

With all his strength Alfred raised his sword and took a few steps towards Ivar. His knees were weak, almost sagging under the weight of the sword - but he had to be strong now. Strong not only for himself - he also had to be strong for others once, once in a lifetime. Strong for something that was hardly understood in this world and that was anchored in actually every heart - _love_.

He took a deep breath when he was finally right in front of Ivar.

The Viking tossed away his throwing knives, which he had still carried, with a quick and sharp movement, and gently spread an arm; He still held his crutch, but more half-heartedly than completely. Despite the many tears and the pain, Alfred could see a wonderful, almost invisible trace of a smile in his full lips - and his heart beat faster, because he knew that he was doing the right thing with this deed.

The young men looked at each other again; blue eyes met brown ones, for half an eternity - until Alfred brought his sword finally halfway up with a short but powerful blow, and struck it with a soft sigh; he couldn't bring his heart to watch the blow and turned away slightly with the movement and swing of the sword.

A familiar sound emerged; the soft slashing of flesh, and a little bit of blood splashed on Alfred's face, right in the middle of his heated cheek. Only when he could no longer hear this noise booming in his ears, could he open his eyes again.

A tremendous dizziness shot him in the limbs, and he had to steady his footing so that he wouldn’t fall over - Ivar was still standing, if quite rickety. Blood ran out of his mouth in a warm gush, ran out of the deep abdominal wound - but what hit Alfred the deepest, on a very deep, emotional level, was the incredibly beautiful smile that Ivar wore on his face in these last moments.

He had never seen a smile like this in his life. It almost looked as if his eyes were being filled with a wonderful light from within, and it was as if a life of pain was pushing out of Ivar’s body and was finally leaving him. A life full of agony and suffering, a life in darkness.

Ivar 'the Boneless' Lothbrok fell on his back with a wonderful, free smile; the last thing that was reflected in the Viking's gleaming blue eyes was the face of Bishop Heahmund of Sherborne - for, strangely, inexplicably, both of them had fallen in battle so they could see each other in death. An incredibly deep whimper slipped from Alfred, all of a sudden, when he saw that Ivar’s fingertips were gently touching Heahmund’s. As if fate itself had brought these two souls from a life of pain and darkness together, to give them a second chance in another place.

A place that didn't judge them for who they were, that didn't want to kill them for who they loved - there they were finally, _finally_ free. Wherever it was.

Alfred closed his eyes and took a deep, deep breath - he drew the air of the battle through his nose until it hurt, and let his feelings run free for a tiny moment. He could feel that a wave of tears rushed from his eyes, a whole flood of feelings that discharged as suddenly as the sword smacked into Ivar’s body - but there was also a slight pain. A knock, a strange, wild knock in his heart told him, that Ivar would most certainly forgive him.

After these few moments of internal struggle, Alfred opened his eyes; he could sense someone was behind him and he turned around slightly. The servant, who had been subordinate to him all his life, stood there with a somewhat disturbed look, wiping the dirt off his face. Alfred looked at him for a moment, then nodded softly.

"As discussed?", the servant asked softly, and Alfred took one last look at the two dead bodies - a deep feeling of warmth filled him, when he saw Christian and Viking lying there, united, as if they had never been apart; as if there had never been enmity between religions and peoples. It filled Alfred with a deep peace, that stretched into every nerve, rushed to the fingertips. He smiled gently and softly, and crossed himself briefly, albeit with trembling limbs.

Only then did he turn back to the servant and nodded gently. "As discussed.", he whispered.

-

The wind was rough on that day; with a shallow whistle it played around the hills and made the tall willow grass, that grew all over this area, sway gently. The air was a touch salty, mixed with the smell of freshly piled up earth; Alfred took a deep breath.

His fingers buried themselves lightly in the soft and somewhat damp earth; the floor was still loose from being turned over, and some of this earth got stuck to his cool skin.

Alfred had closed his eyes tightly and remained in his kneeling position; his fingers dug a little more into the soft earth.

“No matter where you are now - I hope that you are together, and that you have finally found your eternal peace in death. I am sure that we will meet again one day - I will definitely be there one day.” His voice sounded slightly scratchy and rough, still a bit affected from the battle - but he spoke these words clearly and with all his heart. His heart was still terribly broken by the events in a way, but now that he was in this peaceful place, the sound of the sea as a soft music in the background - his soul calmed down a bit.

It had not been easy to drag the bodies of the two warriors unseen from the battle - but his servant had done an excellent job, and Alfred had paid him dearly for his secrecy. Against all odds and against all beliefs, England had won the war - they had driven the Vikings from their country, but Alfred was sure that one day, they would come back.

If only for the reason that none of the Vikings could explain where the famous son of King Ragnar Lothbrok had gone; rumors filled the islands from England up to the far north in the homelands of the pagans. But rumors were rumors - they should seldom be believed. Of course, Ivar’s brothers might come back one day to find out what really happened; or maybe not. Alfred could not determine what lay in the future, and strangely enough, his soul found a strange calm in these moments - he knew deep down that he had done something good, even if he had to kill someone for it. But when he thought back to the wonderful relief that had shown in Ivar’s last breath - it hadn’t been senseless killing, it had been liberation.

With a smile, Alfred opened his eyes and stared at the two graves in front of him; two simple wooden crosses marked the places where Christian and Viking had been buried side by side, facing the infinite horizon of the open sea, far out in the vastness of the English coast. The sun moved slowly towards dusk and sank soft and orange-red behind the mirror of the sea; Alfred’s lips smiled a little wider, then he turned to the grave, from which a small cross chain dangled.

“You have always been a good teacher, Heahmund, and I am sure that God will receive you with all his love and kindness. Please take care of Ivar, he has taken on so much, just for you."

With a gentle movement, Alfred pulled his fingers out of the soft earth and kissed them; then he pressed his fingers first on Heahmund’s, then on Ivar’s wooden cross, from which a silver bracelet dangled, which shimmered softly in the light of the setting sun. As Alfred slowly got up, he knew that he had chosen exactly the right place for such a grave - with the sea, he connected Ivar’s home and his incredible ability to rule life with its waves like a sea. And for him, the earth and the soft, tall grass were like Heahmund's down-to-earthness and the desire for freedom, wild as the wind.

Alfred took one last look at the graves and then at the horizon - and when the breeze turned into a harder, cooler gust, he slowly made his way home, because this place was far from his home.

Hidden and wild and free like the love of two people that went beyond belief and death.


	15. ~~~ E p i l o g ~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here the very last chapter of this story, just a little, finally friendly epilogue. :)  
> I want to thank you all for following me through this story! <3 It was a lot of fun and I hope you didn't find the ending too bad either! Because, well... in the end, love always wins, my dears. ;) Thank you so much for all the love here! <3   
> Whenever you have ideas and would like to see them in a story - because you can never have enough Heavar, just like me - just send me a meassage. :)
> 
> Have a wonderful start to the weekend, my friends!

A soft, distant noise came slowly but steadily into Heahmund’s ear; it came closer, very gently, and soon filled his entire consciousness. With the sound of this noise, his sense of smell came back very slowly; he smelled fresh air, paired with a hefty pinch of salt in it, and it almost felt as if a light, cool wind was brushing over his body.

Where was he? And what had happened?

He didn't dare to move his body too much - maybe he was still in battle, badly wounded, and only had the illusion or deception that the sound in his ears sounded like the sea. Slight goose bumps crept over the Christian's body; it spread strangely warm from his toes to his hairline and filled every single cell of his body.

His fingers touched the floor; but instead of the dirt and mud that he had expected, his fingers reached into cool and slightly rough sand, which felt suspiciously wet.

What the…?

Heahmund opened his eyes with a soft groan; bright sunlight stabbed him in the eyes, made him blink violently for a moment, as if dirt had been rubbed into his eyes. The air filled his lungs more and more, dragging him back into the strange reality he was apparently in - even if he still didn't quite understand where it was. He opened his eyes a slit again, and the sunlight wasn't quite as hard as it was before. It burned easily in his eyes, but he was finally able to open his eyes completely.

Bright sky stretched over him, bathed in a warm orange-red, and reached over the entire horizon; when Heahmund turned his head slightly, he was looking straight at the vast expanse of the sea. And although he still couldn't grasp physically and mentally what had happened here, the sight of these surging, slightly whitish foaming waves filled him strangely deep and gave him a strange calm for a moment.

He didn't know how long he lay there and just stared into the beautiful distance; but at some point he decided it had to be safe to get up; apart from the distant screeching of a few wild seagulls and the roar of the sea, he hadn't heard any hostile noises.

When he sat up, he felt no pain.

His breath caught a little; his hands ran almost hastily down his body, groping blindly and in panic for the sting, for the fatal injury, the pain of which he only vaguely remembered; his fingers slid over the entire armor, but it was strangely clean and had no trace of the fatal injury. Heahmund let out a startled gasp and for a moment felt incredibly dizzy - what was going on here?

And with another movement, another, deeper thought tore into his senses, deeper than any previous knowledge - _Ivar_.

A strangely choked sound crept up Heahmund's throat, almost took his breath away as he thought of the blue eyes he had last seen in deep shock and disbelief, torn wide open by the pain that Heahmund had been killed... His hands began to tremble, and with a jerky movement Heahmund ran his hand through his black hair and closed his eyes; another, pain-choked sound escaped from him, from a deep, sad place, completely hidden in his soul-

_He would never see him again._

Never again would he feel the blue of the wonderful eyes on his face, never again slide his hands on the boy's cheeks - never again taste the sweet taste of those soft lips.

Why did that happen...

"Are you planning to just sit there all day, or do you want to look at me too?"

A familiar voice suddenly tore Heahmund out of his grief - he hadn't heard any sounds, and was more than shocked when he raised his head and saw something that made him stare with a wide open mouth.

_No, that couldn't be true - Heavenly Father, what was the hell going on here? Was he crazy?_

But Heahmund’s open mouth and a single blink didn’t make this wonderful, beautiful hallucination go away...

It was Ivar.

The young Viking was standing - yes, he was _standing_! - not even a step away from Heahmund, grinning cheekily in his black leather armor, and held out an outstretched hand to the Christian. Intense blue eyes looked at him, as warm as life itself, too sweet to be true... Was he dreaming?

Heahmund blindly felt for Ivar’s with his hand and let him help him up. For a moment Heahmund could do nothing but stare at Ivar - it was strange, such a strange sight to see the boy without his crutches, completely free standing and unharmed, with the most beautiful smile on his lips Heahmund had ever seen.

His gaze went up and down the Viking's body, almost as if to make sure that this moment actually happened - and Heahmund felt almost stupid, stupid as a peasant, when he put a hand on Ivar's cheek, slightly reluctantly, and touched it. A thumb gently stroked the cheek with the fine scar on the side, and it was almost too good to be true when Ivar put on a soft smile, his eyes sparkling as if tears were pooling in them, and his cheek slightly leaned against Heahmund's thumb. He felt every single rub of the skin, the soft curve of the scar…

"You can... your legs ...", Heahmund uttered, completely perplexed and still shocked by everything that was going on - either he was hallucinating incredibly strongly and was in a feverish dream, or he was...

"Freed from worldly suffering, or as it is said in this Bible thing..." Ivar murmured softly, and his pointed canine showed easily, slid over the full, far too soft lower lip as it had often did then; a tear rolled aimlessly down his cheek, and Heahmund opened his mouth again. He felt the tear run down his thumb exactly, but he was still unable to grasp it all. As if his head was too slow.

"…the Bible? You mean ...?", Heahmund stuttered perplexed; he was still staring at Ivar as if he had just appeared out of nowhere, but when Ivar put a hand on his neck, he felt warmth flow through his body, wonderful, incredibly soothing warmth that suddenly took away all fear.

"That means we are ...?”

"Yes."

"But how ...but how can that work, I mean ...?"

There was a snarling and Ivar let out a snort; with a soft movement, his hand clapped firmly on Heahmund’s neck, which was still filled with deep goose bumps.

"Well, how can that work? Do you see any shields or gods here? Well, I don't... by the way, you seem to have bumped your head somehow, you're still a bit... ", Ivar uttered amused, but before he could continue, Heahmund roughly grabbed his cheeks with both of his hands, pulled him closer and kissed him so urgent and pulsating that he felt Ivar's knees go enormously weak.

It became the best kiss of his entire existence.

He couldn't describe the feeling that rushed through his body... He couldn't find any words in his language or in another that could even begin to describe the feeling that shot through his veins... It was more than bliss, it was more as love. It was like the kiss of infinite peace and freedom.

Ivar’s hands clung to Heahmund’s, looking for support under the pressing kiss; Heahmund could still taste the slight saltiness of tears, but this time it didn't seem to be Ivar’s.

No, it was just the infinite liberating feeling that shot out of Heahmund’s body and finally let him breathe. After so many years he could finally breathe.

He released the kiss and took a deep breath while pressing his forehead against Ivar's - he closed his eyes, savored the smell of Ivar's skin that immediately went into his lungs, and took such a long drag that his lungs almost burst.

"I know." Ivar uttered softly; they kissed again, free of any fear, under the reddish sunlight; the sea rushed in the background and filled the air with the sound of infinite freedom.

When they parted after half an eternity, Ivar took Heahmund’s hand tightly in his and pulled him further away from the sea. It was an indescribable feeling to see Ivar on strong legs - free as a bird, and the glint of absolute bliss in his eyes. His steps were strong and curious like his mind - and Heahmund loved it. He loved every second in this world, loved every moment that was burned so deeply into his mind.

Forgotten was the pain of the previous life, forgotten the worldly sufferings... Because only one thing counted here: the two of them.

Heahmund wanted to ask so many questions - who had killed Ivar? How did he get here with him? Where were they? And: were they alone?

But he never asked.

Because at the end of each day, reddish in the beautiful light of the setting sun with the infinite horizon in front of their eyes, only one thing was important: the here and now. Together. And the smell of Ivar’s hair in his nose, which he smelled every evening and every morning from now on, close by his side.

Forever.


End file.
